


stories about stars (relight)

by fictier



Series: per aspera ad astra [2]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Astrology, Astronomy, M/M, Soulmates, Stars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictier/pseuds/fictier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll play,” he murmurs to himself, “until you come home.”</p><p>He’s talking to the moon, of course. The moon and all his stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capricornus: A Sudden Appearance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyitsmemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsmemi/gifts).



> I reread the original version of this piece to start working on new chapters and quite frankly, I was embarrassed by the original. My writing has improved immensely over the course of 6-7 months, and I feel that I can't move forward and produce new chapters until I've fixed the old ones, so that's what's happening here. It will follow all the same plot points, except better. Also, Light Yagami is a much more fittingly bored individual and L is snarkier, because who doesn't need more sassy L in their lives? I am here to deliver it to you.
> 
> Edit: Gifted to heyitsmemi, who I appreciate and adore with all my heart. ♡ (Thank you for everything you've done for this story and the original- you know what I mean.)
> 
> Edit: Please check out this beautiful short ficlet by @homo--chan on tumblr!! [Here!! ♡](http://homo--chan.tumblr.com/post/152554724608/this-is-a-tiny-ficlet-inspired-by)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Capricornus, like Pisces, depicts the result of the sudden appearance of the earthborn giant Typhoeus. Bacchus was feasting on the banks of the Nile at the time, and jumped into the river. The part of him that was below water was transformed into a fish, while his upper body became that of a goat. From this point of view, he saw that Typhoeus was attempting to tear Jupiter into pieces; he blew a shrill note on his pipes, and Typhoeus fled. Jupiter then placed the new shape of Bacchus in the heavens out of thanks for the rescue.
> 
> Capricornus has therefore from antiquity been represented by a figure with the head and body of a goat and the tail of a fish. It may be seen between Aquarius and Sagittarius low on the southern horizon."

 * *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

  

 

> _"I defy the stars;_
> 
> _I defy Heaven and Hell._
> 
> _The laws of the universe say that the man I love is_
> 
> _lost to me._
> 
> _I say:_
> 
> _Watch me save him."_
> 
> _\- (he saved me first, you know.) ||[C.K.](http://lawlietismyfavorite.tumblr.com/post/130797283220/i-defy-the-stars-i-defy-heaven-and-hell-the)_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★ 

 

 

 

> _“I’d have wanted to be your friend forever.”_
> 
> _“I wish we could’ve met in some other way.”_
> 
> _“There was no other way we could’ve met.”_

_The ceiling of the warehouse is gritty and hollow, hanging low to kiss their heads and otherwise obscuring their view of the stars. The soft knives of Lucifer’s hands are curled into retractable fists; the floor is murky and drowning in strange puddles. It’s a room with the very pallor of death itself._

_But –_

_There comes a whisper, so soft it’s almost lost in the distorted seams of the plain, murky box:_  

 

 

> _“I’ll prove you wrong, next time. I’ll see you on the other side.”_

_And in a flash, everything dissolves but panic, panic, panic. Screams. There’s a body lying in the puddles._

  

 

 

>   _Help me – help him – what’s happening? –_
> 
> _Who am I? What is my name?  What is his –_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light Yagami wakes with a start, his eyes opening wide as the adrenaline of consciousness reminds him he’s breathing. Sunlight pours through the window, brusquely informing him that it’s morning.  A glance at his wristwatch reveals the time – a few minutes before seven, when the alarm neatly set on his bedside table would ring to wake him. Teru sleeps on the bed adjacent to his, sheets tucked over his head, motionless in rest.

Light, seeing no reason to return to sleeping with so little time left, rubs his hands over his eyes and flicks the alarm clock’s switch off.  He casts the blankets off his legs and sits up, propping himself at the edge of the mattress.

_It’s the first day of classes._

With the thought, he moves to get ready to leave for his first class, an introductory psychology course. Psychology has always annoyed him in some capacity, but it’s a required component of his degree, according to the university.

As he changes into an ivory button-down shirt, crisply folding the collar, his mind wanders. His dreams have been increasingly strange and repetitive as of late; likely a phenomenon attributable to moving onto campus, even though he’s never been particularly susceptible to tricks of the mind. He always dreams of the same place: an old warehouse, dark and murky, remembered in sleep so often that it feels like a tangible memory.

Light wanders into the bathroom connected to his and Teru’s small room, glancing in the mirror to find that the circles underneath his eyes make him look haunted, as if he’d seen a ghost.  He dismisses the thought in favor of smoothing his shirt and picking up the comb for his hair.

Class, at least, might be interesting, he thinks as he catches sight of his own vaguely bored gaze watching him.  He pretends he can forget about the emptiness he sees there, and chooses instead to see the exterior shell as a whole, as anyone else would.  He can hear birds chirping outside through the thin veneer of a wall and sighs deeply, silently, invisibly. 

_What’s the point, anyway?_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

The desks in the psychology room are built for two students to share one tabletop. There is ample space for two people to sit comfortably, but Light sits alone near the left-front of the classroom, close to the window, and places a single notebook with a pen directly in front of him.  He leaves the syllabus for the class on top of the notebook, predicting that the professor will request students to study it.

Light resents being late, but he also resents being early, so by the time he’s properly situated there are only three minutes left to go until the start of class. He’d planned the exact amount of time it would take to walk from his residence hall to the classroom the afternoon before; it didn’t take him long to commit a mental map of campus to memory.

Sunshine spills onto his back and casts warm, beautiful prisms all over the shifting patterns of air, but he’s unimpressed. As expected, there are plenty of desks yet to be filled in towards the middle and front. Nervous chatter pervades the atmosphere – no one wants to be _that_ person, sitting too closely to the whiteboard and the professor, but Light isn’t one to be easily intimated, or, for that matter, one to care about trivialities.

Light drums his fingers on the desk, leaning his head on his hand as he stares out the window, his eyes unable to focus on anything. He glances over for only a split second to see a tall man in a turtleneck sweater pacing to the front of the classroom – undoubtedly the professor.

_Isn’t it a little hot for sweaters? It’s still August._

“Good morning, class,” the professor announces, flashing the class a bright, toothy grin. “Welcome! This course is introductory psychology – full of mostly freshmen, yes?”

The muddle of students responds with a chorus of murmured approval and nods, but Light doesn’t move. He traces the outline of his notebook paper with the back of his pinky finger, turning back to the window.

“Well,” the professor says cheerily, “today we will be covering the syllabus. I trust you’ve already seen my email, and printed it?”

Light doesn’t move, simply listens to the muffled movements of his classmates behind him as they unzip their backpacks to grab the paperwork.  Just as the professor pulls out his own copy of the syllabus and pushes his glasses up on his nose, the predictable _click_ of the door opening alerts the class to a latecomer. Light sighs and doesn’t look back; his eyes instead flick to his notebook, and the clean lines of it against the desk.

_We’re just covering the syllabus today.  Predictable. That’s a waste of time._

_Can’t we read it on our own?_

“Come in!” the professor exclaims, unfazed by the late student, and Light looks over at him for a split second. “We’re just going over the syllabus if you would like to…”

He trails off, seemingly lost in thought. Light watches a vaguely confused expression flit across his visage, a curious look rapidly replaced by an even smile.

“Thank you,” comes the cool reply, from a smooth voice. “I apologize for being late.”

There’s a soft patter of footsteps against the floor.  Light doesn’t bother looking over, until he hears the sound of the chair next to him being pulled back.  He lifts his head and glances to the side, raising an eyebrow, surprised to find that the late student is directly next to him – even in spite of all the open desks.

It's an uncertain game to guess what aspect of the student is more distracting: his boldness, or his appearance. Light’s gaze doesn’t linger long, but he catches a few snapshots that stick to the back of his eyelids: this student is made up of dark hair like splattered ink, a faintly grey complexion, eyes open wide with a fish’s stare, disheveled clothes hanging from unusually thin shoulders. He doesn’t seem to carry a bookbag.

Something about him is, wordlessly, unsettling.  Perhaps it’s the way he sits: like a frog, a mess of jumbled limbs.  Like someone had cut all the pieces of him out from different fabrics and stitched them back together in a hurried mess – he’s the kind of person you’d move away from on the bus, and laugh when recounting tales about later with a bit of hysteria at the edge of your words.

Light looks away and slowly shifts his books further to the left, moving his chair in the same direction to move as far away from the unwelcome company as the desk would allow. He almost thinks it’s his imagination that he senses this person – this frog, this shadow – shifting closer to him all the while, until:   

“Hello,” comes a soft whisper. “Could I see your syllabus? I didn’t print one.”

Light offers no response other than a quick nod, and he moves the paper closer to his guest in a smooth motion. He doesn’t look over, but he’s almost certain that if he tilted his head too far to the right, he might wind up with a mouth full of erratically gravity-defying, inky hair.

“Thank you.” His voice is smooth, deep.  It rather doesn’t sound like it belongs to him. 

Light loses himself in his own thoughts.  He thinks about psychology – how he’d rather be learning something else, and rather be sitting next to someone else. The figure next to him doesn’t stop fidgeting, and every time he moves Light smells, faintly, strawberries.

_Strawberries…_

The thought triggers something almost familiar in his mind, and he loses track of remembering where he is. He isn’t sure how much time passes before he tunes back in to listen to the professor asking the class distinct questions; he's able to pick the right time to tune back in by listening for those direct verbal clues that the lecture was taking a turn from the explanatory to the inquisitive.

“So, what is everyone majoring in?" the professor asks, clasping his hands together. "Do we want to go around the room and discuss it quickly? Would you like to go first, you there in the front?” He nods towards Light.

Light smiles charmingly and stands to face the rest of the class, pushing his chair back while moving farther to the left infinitesimally.

_This is a useless exercise._

“Good morning,” he begins, a delicate chuckle implicit in the back of his throat. He’s mastered the art of public speaking, the art of making himself accessible.  He is the perfect charade, the most beautiful mask.  “I’m Light Yagami. I’m an honors student, majoring in Ethics, Politics, and Economics.” He waves to everyone and casts a dazzling smile across the room, but still doesn’t see their faces – doesn’t want to, doesn’t care to.  He sits back down, listening to whispers float through the air.  He thinks he catches the word _handsome_.

 _Predictable.  How very innovative._  He resists the urge to shake his head. _Doesn’t anyone ever notice anything else?  Doesn’t anyone care about anything else?_

There is a quiet shuffling as his neighbor stands, and Light glances over at him, curiosity tugging at his stomach. When facing everyone, the figure is hunched, and he scratches the back of his neck, pulling at some of the longer strands of his hair. “I am L,” he says, almost boredly. “Cognitive science. And astronomy.”

For belonging to such a soft voice, his words certainly seem to carry far. Wide, matte-grey eyes sweep the room, and he sits back down amid a sea of murmurs that don’t bother to be hushed. The class seems to have picked up on his ghostlike appearance, and Light’s spine prickles with an inexplicable uncertainty.

_Is his name really L?  That’s a letter, not a name.  Or maybe it’s Elle…?_

But the whispers don’t last long: the next person to introduce herself stands, and the rest of the class carries on the sequence.

Light, tempted by intrigue, dares to look over at his neighbor and is taken aback to find that those unmistakably dark, wide eyes are staring back at him, unreadable and altogether expressionless. He also appears to be sucking on his thumb, rather unabashedly.

_Who the hell is this guy?_

_What is he?_

The sudden and foreign nature of the contact is almost startlingly intimate, and Light shifts away to face the window again. Something odd twitches in the small of his back, almost as if someone were tugging on him from the inside, but he easily keeps a neutral expression plastered on his features.

_Stay calm.  You have no reason to feel unsettled by him; he's just some stranger._

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the class to finish their introductions; Light doesn’t listen to any of them. The professor dismisses the class soon afterward, encouraging everyone to enjoy the day.

Light reaches to grab the syllabus to pack into a neat folder, but when he stretches his hand out, he grasps at nothing. He glances to the right and finds L holding the syllabus strangely – he’s pressing the very corner of the paper between his thumb and pointer finger, dangling it directly in front of his eyes and inspecting it like it’s crime scene evidence. Light presses his lips a thin line and stares at L, who looks back with the smallest ghost of a smile. There are dark, dark circles underneath L’s eyes, like he hasn’t slept in centuries.

_Well, time to charm your way out of this one._

And, so, Light laughs congenially. “Hey, pretty interesting, isn’t it?” he asks, flashing L a smile. “We’re doing a lot this semester. Think you can keep up?”

Somehow, the last words sound strange and uneven, like they are well-rehearsed to the point of perfection but delivered in the wrong context, or with a mistaken feeling.

L doesn’t appear to notice, or exhibit any demonstration of being bothered. “It is certainly nice to see you, Light Yagami,” he says curiously, leaning forward and lowering the syllabus to the desk. He tilts his head and leans closer and closer still, so much that it casts some doubt as to whether he may fall off his chair.  He's only inches away from Light's nose. “It certainly is a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Light says, leaning back but still smiling.  He feels his heart pulsing unusually fast, but takes care to ensure that he doesn’t adorn the expression of someone distressed. “Do you have any other classes today?”

“Not until this evening,” L says evenly, swaying back as if a faint breeze could knock him over. He's pulling away, as though thinking better of neglecting the common courtesy of personal space. “But I must be going.” He stands up, still slightly crooked, and awkwardly tucks his hands into his pockets. “Until next time, Light Yagami.”

“See you around, L,” Light replies, with a graceful smile. He watches as L shuffles away, and then hastily packs his own materials into his bookbag, including the syllabus.

He notices, objectively, that his hands are shaking.  All the while, the sun dances through the window, as if it’s laughing at some cosmic joke he doesn’t know.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

  


	2. Cassiopeia: The Feeling of Being Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Cassiopeia was the beautiful wife of Cepheus, king of Ethiopia, and the mother of Andromeda. She is most famous in connection with the myth of her daughter, Andromeda. The queen made the mistake of bragging she was more lovely than the Nereids, or even than Juno herself. The goddesses were, needless to say, rather insulted, and went to Neptune, god of the sea, to complain. Neptune promptly sent a sea monster (possibly Cetus?) to ravage the coast. The king and queen were ordered to sacrifice their daughter to appease Neptune's wrath, and would have done so had Perseus not arrived to kill the monster in the nick of time. As a reward, the hero was wedded to the lovely Andromeda.
> 
> By most accounts, Cassiopeia was quite happy with the match. In some versions of the myth, however, the queen objects to the marriage and is turned to stone when Perseus shows her the head of the Gorgon Medusa."
> 
> Although she was placed in the heavens by Neptune, the sea-god saw fit to humiliate her one final time (and for all eternity). He placed her so that she is seated on her throne, with her head pointing towards the North Star Polaris. In this position, she spends half of every night upside-down.

 

 

> _In another world, a man plays the piano. His hair is a deep blue-black, saturated as though with ink. There are deep circles under his eyes; his fingers are long and pale, almost comically so. He hums to himself as he creates – every note is like another piece of the puzzle, falling into place._
> 
> _“I’ll play,” he murmurs to himself, “until you come home.”_
> 
> _He’s talking to the moon, of course. The moon and all his stars._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

If Light Yagami hadn’t expected to be sitting next to a frog during his psychology class, then he _certainly_ hadn’t expected to be sitting next to the very same frog during the first meeting of the tennis club later that night.

L – the one with precisely a frog’s posture, the one with those wide, fish eyes bugging out, the one with those thin lips twisted by inevitable curiosity – stares at Light; more than that, even, he turns his whole body to watch Light’s every moment so that he’s sitting sideways entirely, his empty eyes boring holes into Light’s arms and neck like bullets.  All that Light can feel in the moment is a rush of frustrated adrenaline, burning at the crown of his head and manifesting itself in the clench of his fists as he bothers not to listen to the presentation at the front of the room. He bothers only to keep his expression neutral, to refrain from giving L any such satisfaction of a glance over.

The club’s captain, the one giving the presentation, doesn’t bother to mask the curiosity in his expression as he eyes flick over Light and his unwelcome guest – and Light notices it, grits his teeth at the sight of it.

 _This is absolutely ridiculous,_ he thinks, feeling his skin burn but betraying no evidence of the humiliation. _Who the hell is this guy? What’s his problem? Has he never seen another human being before? But, no, of course he has – so why’s he fixated like this?_

_He’s drawing attention to himself, and to me._

_What a pain in the ass. I’ve gotta get rid of him._

“As you know,” says the captain, his eyes lingering on the space next to Light for just a moment too long, “anyone is welcome to join club tennis.  But for those interested in competing against other schools’ club teams, we’ll be conducting tryouts in a few weeks time, so get yourselves ready!”

L makes a noise in the back of his throat, a soft _mmm_ of approval, or perhaps understanding. Light closes his eyes, turning his head in the other direction.  He tries to reconcile the image of gawky, disheveled L with his knowledge of tennis, but he can’t reasonably merge the two together and he resists the urge to laugh.  Naturally, he’d never act on the urge, but he savors the absurdity of it, the feeling of superiority.  L is no match for him; it’ll be easy to shake him off.

“That’s all we've planned to talk about for today!" says the captain, a bit of a laugh at the edge of his voice. “Hope you all had a nice time! Remember to sign in at the front with your emails to get more updates.”

“This is all very interesting,” L murmurs from next to Light, who doesn’t look over. The people around them slowly rise from their chairs, stretching and whispering – undoubtedly L’s unusual behavior is garnering attention.  “Do you want to compete against other college teams, Light?”

“You know, I’m not sure,” Light says dismissively, standing and brushing invisible dirt from his pants. It feels almost as though his skin itself is itching from beneath the surface, too tight on him – it’s the feeling of needing to escape. “I was a champion in junior high, so it might be fun to get back out on the court.”

He’s not sure why he adds the extra quip; maybe to show off, intimidate the competition. But L is unfazed by it, instead grazing his thumb with his teeth for a response. Light lowers his head, glances back at L to see that he hasn’t made any move to dismount the chair.

“Where are you going now, Light?” L asks, blinking slowly. His words are smooth, almost too smooth – it sounds like he knows something secretive, perhaps even something he wants Light to guess.

_I need to get rid of him._

_I_ _don’t need him following me around for the rest of the night. He’s clearly strange._

“I’m going to meet my roommate for dinner,” Light says, digging his fingernails so hard into his palm that his fist shakes. It’s a lie, but most people would avoid joining or following him if they knew a third party was involved. It’s a typical enough social courtesy.

“That sounds fun,” L remarks mildly, standing from his chair and tucking his hands into his pockets. Something just subtle enough to be a smirk dances at the edge of his lips. “Mmm… I hope you wouldn’t mind if I joined you.”

Light masks an immediate and surprisingly strong wave of frustration with an easy smile, laughing a little.

_Damn!_

Never mind the idea of being around anyone after a long day – he didn’t want to have to deal with L. It would be difficult to deter him, clearly, but maybe after one deliberately awkward dinner, L would lose interest. He’d have to pretend Teru cancelled; unknowing of any supposed dinner plans, Teru was still in class.

“We’d be glad to have you,” says Light, pulling his phone from his pocket to use as an excuse to look away from L.  Looking directly at him is surprisingly difficult; L’s eyes are almost so empty that they’re filled to the brim with something nameless, and the sensation reminds Light of ghost stories.  Not that he’d ever placed any faith in believing ghost stories, but L isn’t entirely unlike some creature plucked conveniently of a horror tale, placed with deliberate consideration directly into Light’s life.

Light pretends to scroll through his texts, noticing that L pauses to pull his shoes back on. They’d apparently been lying nondescriptly underneath his chair. The thought makes Light want to wrinkle his nose, but he fights the impulse. “Looks like Teru’s busy,” he says coolly, pretending to frown as he stares at the screen with the imaginary text. “If you want, we can get dinner another night.”

When Light looks over, L is smiling almost to himself, staring at the front of the small auditorium as if in deep thought. “No, Light, this is fine,” he says softly, precisely in the same manner of someone who had found a missing puzzle piece or otherwise been proven right.

Light stiffens, suspicion tugging at him.  Perhaps he’s being paranoid, but L seems unusually observant.

_Judging by his reaction, it’s almost as if he could tell I’d been lying all along about Teru coming and he wanted to see how I’d work around it._

_But…_

_No, that’s ridiculous. He’d have no way of knowing. He’d have no reason to doubt me._

“Well,” L says, “let’s go.” He moves to leave, turning away from Light. His hair looks like an ink blotch against the soft whiteness of his shirt. “I hope they have shortcake today at the cafeteria.”

Light follows, glowering only slightly at L’s back.

 

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

Their walk to the cafeteria is silent. Light doesn’t bother trying to be charming; he only wants to leave as quickly as he can. L seems otherwise distracted by looking up at the sky, apparently seeing no sense or purpose in words. The evening has edged into the smooth velvet of night, with darkness as a rich fabric peering around them, and Light’s brain is racing.

_L. What kind of a name even is that? And who majors in both cognitive science and astronomy? They're nothing alike. He’s so strange._

The word _strange_ echoes so many times in his head that it almost sounds foreign, and loses its meaning. Light steals a glance at L – it's nearly impossible to see in the full-fledged darkness of the night, save for the assistance of streetlamps and the moon – and notices how hunched his back is.  The observation gives him more of the same satisfaction: every detail that separates him from L compels a new wave of relief. He takes solace in the differences between them, if inexplicably, gloatingly so.

_He’s so abnormal._

_That's why I'm noticing the differences._

And if L notices the glances, he doesn’t say anything.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

           

 

At the cafeteria, they share a booth; L sits across from Light, with only a plate full of cake and a mug full of coffee in front of him. Light, on the other hand, makes no move to eat anything.  He crosses his hands neatly, the picture of politeness and consideration even as his thoughts spin at a dizzying rate.

_Who the hell drinks coffee this late at night?_

“So you’re studying astronomy and cognitive science,” Light says, tracing circles onto the surface of the booth with his pinky finger. “Why that combination? It seems like a lot of fulfill.” 

He had initially wanted to remain silent and drive L away strategically with lack of conversation, but curiosity gets the best of him.

“Mmm,” L says, his mouth stuffed with cake, one hand gripping a fork and the other resting on his knee. He’s sitting like a frog again, predictably. “I’d love to work in intelligence analysis one day. As for the astronomy…” He trails off, swallowing his food and tilting his head to the side. “You can never predict when it will be useful, Light. The stars might even help you find your way home.”

_Find my way…home?_

_What a strange thing to say._  

The words send a chill down Light’s back, like someone had run cold fingers over him, but he smiles anyway.

“Do you know much about the stars, Light?” L asks, his voice falling.

“Not much,” Light concedes, his words airy and flippant, if considerately so. “I’m interested in other subjects.”

“Such as?”

“I want to follow in my father’s footsteps one day,” Light says, lowering his eyes to look at the table. “He was the chief of police in Japan, before we moved here. He’s a policeman here, too.”

_Why am I saying this?_

_Why am I even talking to him?_ Light frowns, as if taking a step back from himself and realizing the weight of his own words.

Likewise, L’s demeanor changes instantly. He sits up straighter, and when Light glances up there’s a spark of intrigue buried in the matte-grey emptiness of L’s eyes – a surprise that somehow makes Light want to run and hide from being seen, to retreat behind a closed door and breathe, slowly, alone.  His heartbeat skips; he feels the blood in his wrist pulse at a quicker, almost frenzied, pace.

It had been a while since someone’s presence made him nervous. But in that moment, even through the frustration of L’s intrusion, there’s an underlying, almost needling sensation of curiosity nailing him to the place he sits. His palms are prickling; it’s the sensation, he imagines, of preparing to be stricken by lightning.

“Light,” L says smoothly, leaning forward, and smiling like he _knows_ he has an upper hand (and thusly playing in every way the parts of not only the lightning but also the clouds, the rolling storm, the rain), “now that we're speaking of your father, I think you may be interested to hear that I know you helped solve the Higuchi case.”

Light, for his part, feels the blood drain out of his face. 

Even he can’t stop his eyes from widening in surprise.

_Damn him._

 * *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short these are?! I'm trying to follow the same chapter formats as the original just because that makes more sense in terms of copying them over.


	3. Sagittarius: Substitutes and Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "The zodiacal constellation Sagittarius represents the centaur Chiron. Chiron was accidentally shot and wounded by Hercules. The arrow, which had been dipped in the poison of the Lernaean Hydra, inflicted great suffering on Chiron--so great, in fact, that even the talented physician could not cure himself. In agony, but as an immortal unable to find release in death, Chiron instead offered himself as a substitute for Prometheus. The gods had punished Prometheus for giving fire to man by chaining him to a rock. Each day an eagle would devour his liver, and each night it would grow back. Jupiter, however, had at the request of Hercules agreed to release Prometheus if a suitable substitute could be found. Chiron gave up his immortality and went to Tartarus in place of Prometheus; in recognition of his goodness, Jupiter placed him in the stars. From the northern hemisphere, Sagittarius may be seen only in the summer, lying low in the south. The Milky Way runs through Sagittarius."

_* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★_

 

 

 

> _They’re kissing with arms and legs tangled in the sheets; everything is a jumbled pile of limbs and fabric and links from the handcuffs, aspects so intertwined that they couldn’t possibly be picked apart. If one of the shadows was ripped from the other – well, surely it could never be a clean, simple break._
> 
> _“Do you hear a piano?” one whispers, leaning to the side while the other ghost’s lips find the hollow of his collarbone. Even though there are only two of them in the room, there seems to be another presence – a deep heaviness, the weight of the unspoken._
> 
> _“Mmm… No, I can’t say so. I hear nothing of the sort. Perhaps Light should get his hearing checked?”_
> 
> _“Very funny.”_
> 
> _The first looks up, catches sight of the window – the moon is leaning close to the horizon, close enough to fall. It’s impossible to see the stars over the loud-bright shimmer of the city lights. He thinks of it only for a moment before he’s pulled down for another kiss, this one accompanied by a soft moan._
> 
> _Instead of looking for stars outside, he traces constellations onto the other ghost’s back. He quells the urge to ask why they’re doing this, but somehow, as though his thoughts were spoken rather than quietly thought, there comes an answer anyway:_
> 
> _“Don’t underestimate the usefulness of proximity as an investigative tool, Light. It’s more important than you know.”_
> 
> _It sounds more like an excuse than anything else._
> 
> _Implicit:_
> 
> _[I do, in fact, want to doubt you.]_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

> _At the same time, but in another place, a man working at his desk glances out the window, bored. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but he thinks he sees something falling as if from the sky, a quick flash of darkness that he attributes to a trick of the light; it’s difficult to discern with all the rain slapping and pooling against the windowpane._
> 
> _He glances at his wristwatch, a gift from his father after his high school graduation. The day will be over soon. He’ll be able to relax._
> 
> _He’s looking out to the rain again, resting his hand on his palm, when something else catches his eye._
> 
> _He squints and leans to the side, curiosity piqued._
> 
> _Across the road, there’s a shadowlike figure running, dodging the sea of oncoming people in its way, sprinting at an unbelievably fast pace. A long overcoat stems from the figure’s shoulders, almost creating a mirage of makeshift wings. The man watches as the shadow races against – against what? Time? – well, something, (perhaps his own good sensibilities), and darts across the road, all the while dodging oncoming cars and buses._
> 
> _“What the hell?”_
> 
> _He watches the figure crash onto the sidewalk closest to his own building, tripping and rolling into the puddles in the gutter. People stop and stare._
> 
> _But humiliation, even, doesn’t seem to deter the shadow, as it picks itself up, and runs even faster than before. It doesn’t stop until it reaches the side of the building, where it bends down and seems to pick something off the ground._
> 
> _The man at his desk has to squint, almost entirely leaning out of his chair to watch the spectacle unfold. His knuckles are white as he grips the edge of his desk; his stomach is filled with a peculiar nervous feeling, like someone were beckoning his heart to his throat._
> 
> _It’s nearly impossible to discern through the haze of rain, but he could almost swear that the figure with the trenchcoat looks up, and stares right at him._
> 
> _Even harder to tell, but just barely visible, the figure seems to hold a notebook in its arms, wrapped closely to its chest._
> 
> _“Yagami,” someone says from beside him, shattering the mild speculation that the moment is almost entirely imagined, “do you have those reports finished for tomorrow? We need to wrap up this case as soon as possible.”_
> 
> _“Yes,” murmurs the man at the desk distractedly, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. When he looks back, there’s no one there._
> 
> _The shadowy ghost is gone._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light wants to say no, rather emphatically, and run away so fast that L would never see him again, but he smiles and raises an eyebrow. Projecting superiority would undoubtedly intimidate even someone as absurdly intrusive as L.

“I don’t know where you heard that information,” he says, a bit smugly, “but you’re wrong. My father was, but I had nothing to do with it.”

L lifts his thumb to his mouth, tilting his head to the side. He looks at something above Light, visibly lost in deep thought. “You moved from Japan after the case was closed,” he murmurs, his voice thick as though from the back of his throat. “Your family moved to avoid the publicity.”

 _How he hell would he know any of this? Is he guessing?_ If so, he's guessing accurately.  

The only choice is to lie about it. The less L knows about him, the better. “What are you talking about?” Light says, shaking his head in spite of the knot building in his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ah. I was in Japan at the time of the case,” L replies, almost as if he hadn’t heard Light. The only betrayal indicating he’d listened to the words at all is the way his eyes flick to Light, lingering on his neck. “Who wouldn’t be riveted to hear the tale of….”

He picks up his fork and shoves a piece of cake into his mouth, quickly. “The tale of a corporate boss secretly murdering his competition?” he adds, his words barely intelligible over the sound of chewing. “You went by the name Light Asahi as an alias. Light Asahi found the missing link in the case. It was all over the news that the son of one of the investigative task force members solved the puzzle. Of course, there was only one choice: that it was you. Son of Soichiro Yagami. I recognized your name from this morning in class and did some…rudimentary research this afternoon.” He smiles the slightest bit, as if to suggest – _I have you cornered. What will you do?_

“Of course, knowing that you are in fact, Light Asahi – Light Yagami, as I understand your real name to be – I have nothing but the greatest respect for you,” L adds, picking up his coffee cup. He holds it like it’s a piece of evidence, which is, apparently, a habit for him. “I simply had to see you again. I admire your intelligence. Your deductive skills must be incredible, after all. Not to mention, I found you were a junior champion in tennis. Mmmm... That's why I decided to attend the meeting, to see if you would be there. I am rather fortunate, Light.”

Light internally bristles, but remains calm by all appearances, save for digging his fingernails deeper into his fist. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to several conclusions?” he asks mildly, deciding to take the amused-by-this-absurdity route of presenting himself.

“I have no intention of inviting conflict into the conversation,” L says, taking a deep sip of coffee and frowns almost instantly. He mumbles, almost inaudibly, “Not enough sugar.”

“Then why did you follow me around?” Light asks, ignoring L's second comment. He feels frustration wrap an almost uncontrollable grip on him, but he holds himself back. “Did you think it wouldn’t be strange? And to ask questions about my involvement in a high-profile case?”

He hasn’t affirmed or denied his involvement, for that matter – he doesn’t have much of a choice, other than to deflect. He could catch L at his own game, simply by destroying it. Resentment is like static in him; he feels it keenly.  

L blinks, his eyes wide and owl-like. “Mmm. Of course I supposed it would be strange to you,” he returns. “There was a ninety percent chance you would react unfavorably, but how else was I supposed to grab your attention?”

 _Of course._ Even by simply asking, and by reacting to him, Light is falling into some sort of engagement L had apparently considered and even bargained for by following him. Light crosses his arms, glances out the window, leaning back in the booth. If amusement wouldn’t work, contempt would.

_Would admitting that I used the name Light Asahi intimidate him enough to stay away? Or would it draw him in further?_

It seemed to be too early in the semester already to have to shake someone off; he had never wanted to deal with someone like L, which was part of the reason he and his family had moved from Japan in the first place. It was easier to keep private, to stay out of the spotlight. He doesn’t know how to do anything else. The chances that someone who suspected anything about him meeting him here, at university, seemed so small as to be impossible – but, then, the absurdly exaggerated caricature of a stranger in front of him also seemed to defy logic.

“So let me get this straight,” Light says, opening his eyes wider for emphasis, impossibly charismatic and bemused, “you recognized my name from the news coverage of a case from years ago, suspected me of being intelligent, and followed me around, all on account of a hunch?”

“Yes. That’s correct,” L says mildly, taking another sip of coffee and wrinkling his nose at it.

“That seems pretty ridiculous, if you ask me.” Light pouts a little, deliberately.

“Mmm. Yes,” L replies. He says nothing more, only takes another mouthful of cake. There’s a little bit of whipped cream at the corner of his lips; Light resists the urge to smile at the absurdity of it.

“So, you were in Japan,” Light says after a moment, in spite of himself. “Three years ago. Why were you in Japan then?”  He feels bothered, still, unsettled – and it’s not as though his frustration has melted away. If anything, it’s increased with the knowledge of L’s strange intensity. But his curiosity is piqued regardless, perhaps in retaliation for L’s inquisitive intrusion.

“Ah, yes,” L says, still chewing and letting his words sound garbled. “I move around a lot. Even so, mmm, I should be here to stay for a while. It’s quite reasonable to stay in one place to attend university – wouldn’t you say so?”

Light laughs a little. “Makes sense,” he says, gritting his teeth as he smiles. “So why did you move around before? What was the purpose?” He leans forward, buries his mouth like a closed palm to hide the way he clenches his jaw.

He feels _something_.

L’s eyes flash, almost unnoticeably; he looks a little less far-off, more intrigued. “Why would you like to know, Light?” he asks, that small flicker of a smile still there. “Would you like to know my identity?”

“I was asking out of courtesy,” Light lies, “and your reason for moving doesn’t necessarily hinge on revealing anything about your identity.”

“Hmm. That’s an interesting nuance, I think.”

 _It’s almost like he wants me to ask about who he is. But he wants to tease me._ Light says nothing, just glowers across the table.

“But anyway, Light,” L says, noticing the stare, “it has come to my attention that you’re not eating anything. Are you jealous that I have cake? You can get some yourself, you know.”

“No, thank you,” Light says dismissively, eyeing the cake disfigured by missing bites.

_How is it possible he’s so oblivious? Or he’s actually not oblivious at all, and he enjoys…seeing people squirm, with all his questions._

_Is he actually this eccentric? Is it some sort of act?_

_Why did he pick me? Is it really because of his Light Asahi supposition?_

“We should leave, then,” L says after a moment. “I’m done eating. Are you interested in any food, Light?”

“No, thank you. I’m not interested,” Light says politely, already sliding out of the booth. “I’m ready to leave if you are.”

“Yes.” L steps out of the booth, a mess of abnormally long legs. “The coffee was a disappointment.”

“You should’ve added more sugar to it, if you wanted it,” Light says, a bit curiously, remembering L’s comment from earlier, without knowing why he bothers.

“Ah, yes. You’re correct, of course. I should have considered it,” L says, sounding thoughtful. “I suppose I was a bit distracted. Oh, well.”

_Distracted…by….?_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

The moment they step outside, L moves to leave in the opposite direction of Light’s. Light is predominantly relieved at the prospect of solitude, an idea that washes over him like a wave, but some part of him is almost reluctantly – _strangely_ – disappointed to see the walking puzzle of L leave.

“I suppose we’ll be parting ways,” L says, staring at Light in the darkness with a peculiar intensity. “I'm afraid I must go visit a dear friend of mine.”

Light is unsure if he sees a trace of sadness in L’s expression; he convinces himself he’s likely imagining it. “Yes,” he says. “I’m going back to my residence hall.”

The interesting thing about L, he thinks, is that he simply defies the patterns that all other people he’s met predictably, religiously follow. It’s both the most and least appealing thing about him – he’s a satire, incarnate. 

He has only a moment to reflect on it before L is suddenly stepping much closer to him, staring up at the sky and saying _oh, oh, oh_ repeatedly.

“What is it?” Light asks, flinching away somewhat, but following the general direction of L’s finger pointing to the heavens.

“Do you see that one?” L asks insistently, and Light squints. It’s hard to discern exactly which star or group of stars L is pointing too, simply on principle, but he pretends he can tell.

“Sure.”

“That’s Sagittarius,” L explains in a hushed voice. “It’s not part of traditional astronomy to know the mythology behind constellations, as you might suspect. Astronomy and astrology are quite different.”

Light nods affirmation, unsure if it matters to even acknowledge the statement. At the least, he knows it’s true that most people confuse astronomy and astrology.

“But,” L continues, “hmm… Legend says that Chiron was accidentally shot with an arrow by Hercules. He was in perpetual agony, so he, ah, eventually gave up his immortality and went to Tartarus, in place of Prometheus. Jupiter recognized what he considered _goodness_ by painting him in the stars.”

“That’s a great sacrifice,” Light remarks, a bit dryly. “I don’t suppose I’d do the same.”

“Is that so?” L says, turning and looking at Light.

His face is so close; his eyes are wide plates that seem to swallow the rest of his features. Light feels something in his stomach twist at the sight.

“I don’t think I would either,” L says in a whisper, unblinking. He doesn’t move; if anything, he leans closer, almost imperceptibly so, lowering his arm from pointing to the stars. “Light.”

Light doesn’t breathe. He’s unsure if he could, even if he tried – he rubs the sole of his shoe on the ground, tucks his hands into fists, but he can’t breathe.

 _I have never hated someone so much_ , he considers, but the sentiment is hollow, even in the privacy of his mind.

Before Light can even think anything more, L pulls away. “Mmm, this has been fun,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I must be going now. Goodnight, Light Yagami. Or perhaps I should call you Light _Asahi_.”

He must suppose something is hidden even in Light’s flat expression, or in the lack of response, because he adds, “Oh, it’s quite alright. I must say that I know a bit about the importance of names.” He pauses. “I will see you again soon, Light.”

“Nice to meet you,” Light says, forcing himself to smile, when suddenly all he wants to do is scream as he watches L turn his back to him.

The idea of running after him, of tearing at L’s shirt and yelling, isn’t entirely unappealing. Because, simply, he cannot stand L, and for some reason he's never felt more like he's drowning.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

But he feels _something_. That much is certain.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light dreams of a hand caressing his back, of someone sweeping their fingers across his forehead as if to take care of him, like when he’s sick with a fever.

He dreams he’s back in Japan, working with his father at the office, pouring over files from the Higuchi case. In this dream, whenever he looks out the window, he sees the night sky without any stars. He stands still in the office while simultaneously curling into an imaginary embrace, the sort of thing he never needs during wakefulness.

Nightmares, nightmares. Always more nightmares.

He dreams, again, of a warehouse, but this time he feels a hand wrapping around his wrist and that’s the most vivid part of it – the sensation of a warm, dry hand holding his own. He knows it’s a dream because he feels tears on his cheek, and he never cries.

Light concentrates on seeing the person who holds his hand, but he can’t see them. The only thing he sees, if he fights through the haze, is a pair of grey eyes staring back at him while a sound like rain thunders in the background.

But he knows those eyes, and he wakes with one syllable - coincidentally also a name - on his lips, horrified.

 

 * *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zenthisoror and StrawberrySpring created some absolutely BEAUTIFUL artwork today for this story that I'm still freaking out about; check it out [here](http://lawlietismyfavorite.tumblr.com/post/133997739564/zenthisoror-stargazers-if-in-the-flesh-id)! I will always probably be freaking out over their talent.
> 
> Also, check out more art for this story [here](http://lawlietismyfavorite.tumblr.com/tagged/art-for-stories-about-stars)!
> 
> I'll add that in some ways, I consider Light to be a Prometheus-figure. I'll just leave that there. As always, thank you for reading!


	4. Corona Borealis, The Northern Crown: Unwinding All the Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Immediately he set sail for Dia, carrying with him the daughter of Minos; but on the shore of that island he cruelly abandoned his companion. Ariadne, left all alone, was sadly lamenting her fate, when Bacchus put his arms around her, and brought her his aid. He took the crown from her forehead, and set it as a constellation in the sky, to bring her eternal glory. Up through the thin air it soared and, as it flew, its jewels were changed into shining fires. They settled in position, still keeping the appearance of a crown, midway between the kneeling Hercules and Ophiucus, who grasps the snake. (Metamorphoses VIII 174-182)."  
> \--  
> || "The Red Thread of Fate: According to this myth, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. Often, in Japanese culture, it is thought to be tied around the little finger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, tennis scene and shenanigans. The best way to flirt with someone: stutter "My name is written with the character for moon in Japanese" and then mentally kick yourself the whole way home.

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

 

> _He’s at a carnival for spirits. The only person he knows with certainty is living is the one grabbing his hand, and even then he can only tell because he feels their pulses jumping together. They watch the sky light up with red and gold – fireworks that blot out the stars in a garish sort of way. Swarming around them, fireflies hum and get stuck to their hands and hair._
> 
> _“I’ll never leave you alone,” says the voice next to him, a soft murmur. “Not even for a moment. You’ll live and die as mine, I can promise that much. I’m childish and would hate to lose you.”_
> 
> _He shivers at the sound of his partner’s words, but squeezes their hands together more tightly._
> 
> _Mine, mine, mine, he thinks. Yours. Ours._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

 

> _At the same time, but at a different place, a man who has lived for six hundred years without aging even one bit is, in fact, horrified to learn that he has discovered a grey hair at his temple. It’s the tiniest streak of silver in a sea of raven-ink, but noticeable enough that his heart cracks – just a bit, realizing the cause of his newfound predicament. Just a bit._
> 
> _That man doesn’t yet know the secret. He doesn’t know in all the worlds; only some. He has to win but once, and even so, this time will not be it._
> 
> _Better luck next time, my friend!_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Light.”

Teru’s voice draws him from some strange sort of reverie – the kind of daydreaming that found him staring out the window, a textbook in front of him open but untouched. There’s a bit of dust at the corner of his desk.

“Yes?”

Light turns a little, not all the way, and throws a quick glance over his shoulder. Teru is staring at him, with his hair all messy and his clothes a bit wrinkled.  His glasses are slightly askew, too – it’s a windy day outside. He must’ve just returned from class; Light barely heard him enter their room.

“What’re you doing tonight?” Teru asks, taking a seat at his own desk.

It’s their first Friday night at college since moving in. Light for his part had been invited to a party by a girl in one of his classes – a girl with long blonde hair that danced to her waist, a girl with a forgettable name who had giggled and blushed when he looked at her, for that matter, but he had never been interested.  The idea of parties has always bored him, even left him feeling somewhat hollow and irritated – frustrated by the sickness that people could hang onto each other, always cycling through and losing themselves, never caring for anything deeper.

“I might go to the tennis courts,” he answers with a generic smile.  Mock warmth.

What he doesn’t say: _I’m bored, bored, bored. Already. It’s always been this way._

It didn’t take him long to forget about L, who didn’t come to their psychology period on Wednesday. Light didn’t see him around anywhere else. L's absence seemed to serve as proof for some implicit doubt that perhaps he had been nothing more than a ghost all along, but the idea of him leaves Light feeling little more than irritation, any small traces of intrigue faded. What good was a ghost if he couldn’t even bother to do anything interesting in the time he _did_ spend hanging about?

Of course, that’s not to say there was any use in having L around at all. There never had been. He had only been an unwelcome nuisance, a worthless trick that pretended to bite.

“To the courts?”

“Practicing tennis. Gotta keep my strength up. Tryouts for the official club team are in a few weeks’ time.”

_Actually, to be honest, I don’t care, but I’ll go anyway._

“I see.”

“How about you, Teru?”

Light uses peoples’ names when he speaks to them; people enjoy that sort of thing, he’s observed.

As if to emphasize the point, Teru smiles a bit, almost unnoticeably but he _does_. “I’ll be at the library,” he says. “Studying. I have a test next week.”

“Already?” Light forces that little edge of surprise into his voice, perfectly incredulous. “We only covered the syllabus in every one of my classes.”

Teru nods seriously, and Light turns away to watch the sun dip closer to the horizon.

It’ll be setting soon, he thinks, blinking lazily and averting his eyes.

He lingers in the room for only a bit longer before he starts packing to go to the gym; he had brought his old racquets to college with him for no reason other than a passing whim that perhaps attending the gym would occupy at least a bit of his time. When he leaves his room, bidding Teru goodbye quickly, the sun is setting so loudly that the entire world is bathed in crimson. It’s impossible to part his lips without getting a mouthful of it, without knowing it sticks to his hands, without feeling it seep into him. He doesn’t really care; he keeps his eyes trained on the ground.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Darkness is crawling into the sky by the time he makes it to the courts; the spotlights resting at the fence corners are the primary source of light for the people already practicing. It’s surprising to see a large crowd – in fact, the closer he approaches, Light notes that many of the figures huddled in the court seem to be watching one match. For that matter, more to the point, no one else seems to be playing at all.

He blinks, squints, and feels the bag resting on his shoulder grow heavier when he realizes that one figure looks particularly familiar.

_No. Please._

The errantly dark hair and baggy clothes could belong to no one else but the mystery, the ghost himself.

Of course L would also be playing tennis on the same Friday night as Light. He probably would have nothing better to do.

Light clenches his jaw, his thoughts a blurred and intoxicating mess as he digs his palm so firmly around the strap of his bag that the gesture leaves small creases in the dip of his palm.

_Of course he would be here._

_He had better not interrogate me. I won’t let him play around again._

When he’s at the fence, opening the gate, he gains some sort of satisfaction from seeing L look up at him. Light keeps his eyes trained carefully on the court and watches as L misses the shot his opponent sends back to him; he has to resist the urge to laugh out loud.

_Not so good at this, are you, L?_

Even so, from what he can tell, the crowd is in shock.

“Can you believe he missed it?” he hears one girl whisper.

“It’s the first one he missed the whole match. I wonder why…”

More seriously:

“Who wants to play against him next?”

Light narrows his eyes, looks over at L, who – to his surprise – is staring back at him with a peculiar intensity. Darkness makes the hollows of his face deeper, with the shadows standing in starker contrast to his enormous eyes; he looks rather like a deformed skeleton and Light can’t look away.

L’s opponent, the one who had just been playing, is apparently fed up with the proceedings. Not a moment too soon, he stumbles off the side of the court, sweating profusely – his forehead is shining, his shirt visibly drenched.

“Someone else,” he pants, “take over for me. I can’t do it anymore.”

_Just how long had they been playing for…?_

Light observes that L looks not fatigued in the slightest, if somewhat misshapen in his baggy clothes.

It takes only a moment for Light to make up his mind. He pushes through the crowd, a surge of adrenaline – undoubtedly fueled by a desire to reclaim the control L had pushed earlier in the week – taking over. “I’ll play against him,” he says loudly, even though no one else seemed to be in any danger of attempting to fill the position.

L keeps his eyes trained on Light the whole way.

“Light Yagami,” he says, calling across the court congenially. “Nice to see you again. Ah… It’s a surprise to encounter you here, although not an unpleasant one.”

Light smiles.

_It’s the other way around, you fool. You’re the one who followed me to the tennis club meeting._

_You probably came here with a guess that I would show up._

But he says nothing of the sort, only takes his racquet out from his bag. He grips the handle so tightly that his hands stop shaking; a closed palm is an easy way to hide any vexation. He drops his bag at the baseline, tuning out the whispers of the crowd, and paces towards the net.

L visibly raises an eyebrow, but also walks towards the net, a perfect mirror.

 _I will win,_ Light thinks. It’s impossible to think anything else around L, he’s noticed.

“Light?” L asks, holding his racquet in one hand between two fingers as he had days earlier with the syllabus. “Is there something you’d like to share? Please, by all means. I am all yours.”

Light switches his racquet to his left hand, and holds out his right across the net.

“Good luck.”

L smirks at him, but takes his hand anyway. It’s warm and dry, with callouses at the corner of his knuckles between his thumb and pointer finger. Perhaps it’s Light’s imagination, but he feels L’s thumb rub a quick circle into his palm.

_Bastard._

“Ah, yes,” L says innocently, staring back at him with empty, observant eyes. He makes no move to drop Light’s hand, so Light pulls away, his stomach twisting. “Likewise, of course. Say, Light – if you win, I’ll tell you a secret. Let’s play a single set – first one to six wins?”

“Well, then. That’s fine by me,” Light says, stepping back.

_I will destroy you, L._

_I’m more than capable of getting into your head._

_Don’t think you can mess with me and get away with it._

There’s a storm in his mind.

He throws once final glance over his shoulder as he walks away, noticing in the briefest moment that L has a scar around his right wrist – almost like someone had tied something too tightly around it and left a mark.

But, no matter.

It’s L’s serve first. Light stands back, waiting for the ball to sail across the net. It’s been a while since he played seriously, but he’s rarely felt so determined.

And yet, even accounting for determination, nothing could prepare him for the way the ball slices through the air only moments later. His first instinct is to dodge it; it cuts close to his ear, and he suppresses a visible reaction of shock.

_He’s playing so seriously right from the beginning?_

L makes no expression whatsoever, from what Light can tell, even with the dim visibility – his face is stone. “Fifteen-love,” he says, a bit dryly.

Light moves to collect the ball, smiling through gritted teeth as he throws it back.

“I see how it is, L,” he calls over the net. “You sure don’t mess around.”

“Is that so, Light?” comes the cool reply, accompanied by a lazy flick of the wrist to pluck the ball out of the air. “Mmm, well. We will see, that much is certain. One of us will win.”

The crowd is stirring more loudly now, whispers building to a steady level as L moves to serve again. This time, Light is prepared. When the ball sails over the net, he hits it back. His arm almost hurts with the force of how tightly he grips the racquet, but he hits it back.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_To win, you must attack._

In the end, it’s Light who secures the victory, even though L puts up a worthy fight.  At the last moment, he looks across the court and catches sight of L’s ridiculous uniform absurdly hanging off of him, and thinks of the humiliation of being coveted by such a strange figure. If he wants to accomplish anything, to establish himself, to make L leave him be – he has to attack first.

When the ball cuts over the net, evading L’s racquet, the crowd screams. It had been a long match, barely passable as an amateur engagement. As Light looks across the net at L moments after victory, he expects to see some visage of disappointment, or sadness, or even simply stone. He’s surprised to see that L is smiling, as though he has a secret.

It’s the same smile he had when Light told him Teru couldn’t make it to dinner. It’s the smile of: _I know better. I know something you do not know. You may think you’ve won, but it was really me all along_.

 _I know something about you, Light Yagami_ \- that's what he seems to say, with no words at all.

Light can’t look away. He should know better, that it’s all just a game and L is intentionally trying to unsettle him – could he be expected to do anything differently, really? But there’s a sick feeling in his stomach, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the hunched figure standing directly across from him with an impish smirk.

He doesn’t look away even as people flood onto his side of the court. A girl pulls at his sleeve, leans in close to him. He doesn’t know her, but she’s clearly overjoyed with his victory. “Congratulations, Light!” she says a bit shrilly, at the same time as someone claps a hand on his back. He smiles, says _thank you_ as politely as he can manage, but he keeps his eyes trained on the same place.

Moments later, he pulls away from the crowd. Groups of people are already convening to begin matches of their own, but L stands on the sidelines. He’s dropped his racquet at his feet, tucked his hands into his pockets. When Light walks closer, he lifts his head, his eyes large and watchful.

“Ah, yes, Light,” he says, offering a hand to shake, “congratulations. You have a true talent. It is a blessing, in some ways, to have lost to someone with such skill. I, in fact, forgive you for winning.”

“Did you know that I was that skilled when you challenged me?” Light asks, smiling a little and finding that in some ways it is not a forced gesture. He takes L’s hand, but drops it quickly, the ghost of being touched before still lingering on him; he notices, again, the red scar around his wrist.

“I suspected as much,” L remarks mildly, lifting his head a little to look at the sky. He puts his hand back in his pocket quickly, perhaps to cover the mark, suspecting that Light might have noticed it. “I was a champion too, once, back in Britain.”

“You went to Europe,” Light says, thinking of his comment from earlier in the week that he moved around frequently.

“Yes, that’s correct. A rather interesting place, Europe. There are many intriguing things there, particularly in Britain.”

Light pictures a smaller version of L, still dressed in absurd clothes and with the same ridiculous hair, nearly identical save for stature, and resists the urge to laugh.

It was all so ludicrous he couldn’t help but be entertained; at least that’s what he tells himself, his head still rushing from the thrill of the game.

“Anyways, Light,” L says, leaning down to collect his racquet, “would you care to walk home? I’d like to accompany you, if I might, for at least part of the way.”

Light almost steps back, but quells the urge. It was only a walk home, after all – he wouldn’t have to put up with L for too long. And if he made any sudden intrusive comments, Light could ditch him somewhere. “Sure.”

_I suppose it’s the least I could do to thank him for an interesting match, to let him come along._

_Knowing him, he’d probably just wait with me if I made any excuses to leave after him anyway._

He had never played against someone so skilled before; his heart is still pounding from the exertion. It’s undoubtedly resentment, but coupled with something that hadn’t been there before, something Light suspects is likely stomachable only in the aftermath of the match.

 _Tolerance_ , at least in the moment.

(And, so, they go.)

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Thank you for humoring me,” L says as they walk. “I was actually hoping you would be the one to play after the competitor before you, Light. I considered the possibility that you would come tonight. Admittedly, I lost the shot at the end of that last game because I became distracted when I saw you.”

“Is that so?” Light nearly flinches, something foreign from his chest tightening.

It’s unsettlingly honest, the way that L verbally plans and predicts things before they happen. More to the point, L’s plans seem to revolve around him, at least in some circumstances. But rather than betraying any semblance of being flustered, Light smiles easily in response.

“Yes.” L is silent for a moment, as he looks up at the stars. “Light, may I make a request?”

_Oh, no._

_What does he want?_

Suspicion creeps into Light’s heart; it weighs on him heavily, spreads to his hands and stays there. “What is it?” he says, expecting the worst.

He feels the need to run, wonders why he agreed to walk along with L until he realizes it had perhaps never even been his choice. There was a decent chance L had planned this all along, planned it down to the last detail, and maybe he’d fallen into the trap. Such thoughts rush, deafeningly, in his ears.

A moment passes, one that quietly leans on some invisible precipice. The night spins on the horizon; in the distance, the moon rises slowly, surrounded by stars, and there’s no one else walking around within sight to bear witness to it.

“Be my friend,” L says plainly, tilting his head to glance over at Light.

Light nearly stops in his tracks, but forces himself to continue walking at L’s pace without interrupting his own steps.

_Be his friend?_

_Who asks that kind of question?_

_What does he actually want? What would he even be like as a friend?_

“Of course,” Light says, laughing a little. “Weren’t we friends already?”

_Actually, we absolutely were not._

_But what’s the harm in lying, in giving him what he wants?_

_I don’t have to see him often anyway. I can just avoid him._

“Thank you, Light,” L says, his voice coming as close to warmth as Light had heard it yet. “It’s excellent to hear that from the son of Soichiro Yagami, who helped to solve the Higuchi case.”

His words sound so absurdly rehearsed and stiff that Light almost laughs, somewhat hysterically.

“You’re still going on about that? I told you, I wasn’t involved with that. It was my dad.”

_Shut up, L._

_Of course he couldn’t handle one walk home like a normal person._

_I shouldn’t have agreed to this._

“Is that so, Light?” L asks, leaning a little closer to him. “I’m rather good at discerning when people are lying, you know.”

“Then you’ll know I’m being honest,” Light says flatly, pulling his bag a little closer to himself. He grips the strap of it so tightly the skin underneath his fingernails turns pale.

“I’d have liked you even more if it were true that you solved the case,” L remarks mildly, in a small voice, so quiet that Light almost doesn’t hear him. “So it’s really a shame.”

“Excuse me?”

It’s so dark by now that Light would never need to admit that he suddenly felt his cheeks flush, admittedly for no good reason in the slightest. No one would be able to tell.

_I really hate him._

“Ah, it’s nothing, Light. Let’s continue.” L glances up at the stars again – a gesture borderline routine established by this point in the walk. “Sagittarius will be gone soon, you know. It’s only visible during summer.”

“You mentioned that the other day.”

“Yes, that’s true. But it’s quite alright,” L says. “Andromeda will be more easily visible soon. It’s a fair trade, I suppose. Andromeda is one of my favorite constellations, Light.”

“Why?”

“That’s a secret. But, ah, I’ll tell you someday, have no doubt. Now, did you know that Camelopardis is named after a giraffe? You can see it – just over there.” L raises his hand a bit emphatically, pointing to some obscure point in the sky. Light, naturally, having no easy way of discerning precisely where L points to, nods and murmurs _yes_ as if he can see Camelopardis with full ease. It’s easier than the alternative, at least, of admitting he simply has no clue.

He makes the mistake of glancing over to look at L, whose features are softened by the moonlight and the glow from the streetlamps. His sleeves have slipped far past his elbows from all the impassioned pointing, exposing his wrist to the stars.

“My name is written with the character for moon in Japanese,” Light says suddenly, before he can stop himself.

The words slip out, unbidden, and he almost instantly regrets it.

_What the hell? Where did that come from?_

L turns back and looks at him, raising a thumb to his lips. “Is that so?” he says. “Very fascinating indeed, Light. Ah… I rather appreciate hearing it. Thanks for sharing.” His eyes are so large that they’re impossible to look away from.

Light grits his teeth, drags his gaze to the stars, disappointed to find that the dark grey color of the night sky precisely matches the shade of L’s irises, so he feels all around _watched_.

_I will never speak again._

Of course it’s an illogical thought, but he’s somehow frustrated by himself.

The goal of winning had been to push L away, not to spend an evening discussing stars and making absurd nonsequiturs for comments.

A better thought: _I will never let L have the upper hand. Not ever._

He almost smiles.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Light,” L says, as they stand outside Light’s residence hall, “remember, I promised I’d tell you a secret if you won.”

Light is barely holding himself back from running to his room, but he holds still for a moment longer. “Yes.”

“Come,” L says, gesturing for Light to lean closer to him, and Light obliges, holding his breath.

“Yes, L? What is it?"

“You have nice eyes, Light,” L whispers, as if they were words that could solve some great mystery, “and you don’t need to be so serious all the time.”

Light pulls back, something hitching in his chest. His expression must have been entertaining, because L smiles in the same hushed way, apparently amused.

“Have a nice evening, Light. I’ll see you again soon. It was nice to play tennis with you.”

Light feels that his feet are nailed into the ground, but he picks them up anyway and walks away without saying anything – calmly, his hands balled into fists, not turning back to watch L, too, turn away and meander into the dark.

_Damn him. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn._

_He’s just trying to throw me off. Why else would he say something like that, other than to get a reaction? I don’t know – why is it me?_

_The best thing I can do is to not react at all._

He barely manages to get his keys out and walk through the building to his room. It’s a good thing Teru isn’t there when he returns, because he sits at his desk and rather roughly digs his fingers into his scalp, silently fuming.

_I really hate him._

_I have to get rid of him._

_I never want to see him again._

He always seems to be one step ahead of Light: it didn’t matter how well Light could react in response to any eccentricities, the fact was simply that L was always looking ahead and planning something to say.

_Maybe he had wanted to lose the match all along, so he could say something to throw me off._

_I have to get him back._

_I will. I can, I will._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

It takes Light a while to fall asleep. He tosses and turns, sleepless, long after Teru returns from the library, but he pretends to sleep anyway to avoid conversation.

When he eventually does fall into dreaming, he’s on a roof. He sees auroras everywhere, colors leaping through the sky and painting it as anything but grey.

He notices a red, thin string tied around his wrist where there had never been one before. It leads into the sky.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I interest you in an outdated meme? [L Lawliet.jpg](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/tehmeme/images/6/6b/Face_coolface_trollface_trolls_desktop_3508x2480_wallpaper-158842.png/revision/latest?cb=20120502012913) in this chapter. Cannot be denied. I really love L.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! :)


	5. Cepheus: He's the One with a Crown of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Cepheus, king of Ethiopia, was married to the beautiful Cassiopeia, and together they had a daughter, Andromeda. Although his name is most well-known in connection with his daughter, Cepheus was placed in the sky of his own right: He voyaged as an Argonaut with Jason on the quest for the Golden Fleece.
> 
> All three members of the family may be found in the northern sky; Cepheus and Cassiopeia are quite close to the northern celestial pole. Cepheus is generally represented as a robed king with a crown of stars, standing with his left foot planted over the pole and his scepter extended towards his queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As all of my other stories, this is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any glaring errors. Likely going to come back to revise later. 
> 
> To make reading this more bearable, listen to "Find You - Zedd (Alex Goot and Against the Current cover)." Not to give away too much plot, but undoubtedly L will find Light. ("I'll run away with your footsteps / I'll build a city that dreams for two / And if you lose yourself / I will find you.")

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

 

> _“You miss him, don’t you?”_
> 
> _Light thinks of the person she’s referring to, feels the sudden ice of the memory run through his veins even if he can betray nothing of it in his expression. If he closes his eyes, he can still see dark hair against a pillow, the purple-lidded eyes with lashes like veils. The constant quips, chains rustling against sheets, the words “you are Kira” repeated even like bruises on his chest where, secretly, they to one another bestowed kisses. Naturally, it was all nothing more than a game, another level on which L and Kira sparred._
> 
> _“Of course not, Misa,” he says, turning away to mask the contempt. He feels contempt, undoubtedly – but for what is uncertain, and he doesn’t care to uncover it. “Excuse me.”_
> 
> _He can’t stand to look at her face a moment longer, her blonde hair or her wide brown eyes, features sickeningly familiar enough to him that it feels like someone is gripping hands around his throat. He opens the door, moves out into the hallway but doesn’t stop there._
> 
> _She begs him to sleep with her. He hates the idea of begging: it makes him resentful._
> 
> _L had never begged, not once. Not even to live._
> 
> _The idea of L pleading for something, while imagined, leaves warm flashes on his skin._
> 
> _He keeps walking, to nothing and to nowhere. There is nowhere left to go and the world is perfect and there, still, is nowhere he wants to go._
> 
> _If he goes outside, he knows, he won’t see any stars there.  
>  He hasn’t seen any stars in the nighttime sky for years._
> 
> _It’s uncertain if this has to do with the fact that the real world is now perfect enough to have disposed of its need for the romance of stars, or if it’s him – L Lawliet – who took the stars with him when he left._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

 

> _In another world, a man wakes up to see the morning sun pouring in through the small window. He blinks awake, his mind still hazy; the first thing he thinks of is the other person who should be in his bed, so, naturally, he flips over._
> 
> _But he’s surprised to find that there is no one in the bed. In fact, there’s no one attached to the other end of the handcuffs at all; there’s only a note tucked underneath the delicate circle that not long ago had belonged to a wrist:_
> 
> _“I’m sorry, Light-kun.”_
> 
> _His chest is almost instantly hollow._
> 
> _(The man who built the world is gone.)_
> 
> _But, why?_
> 
> _Come_
> 
> _Back_
> 
> _Please_
> 
> _Help_
> 
> _Don’t_
> 
> _Leave_
> 
> _Me_
> 
> _Here_
> 
>  
> 
> _The man who left stands hidden, far from the building, crouched on the side of the road. He digs his knuckles into the pavement with the sheer frustration of the situation, wanting to scream. Something’s in his eyes, maybe dirt, and he can’t see straight._
> 
> _He doesn’t dare ask himself: Are you looking for me, Light-kun?_
> 
> _More words echo through his head like drums, and he can barely breathe._
> 
> _Must – reset – again – this time –_
> 
> _I’ll meet him in the next world – there will always be – another –_
> 
> _He tries not to be scared as he slowly stands, moves into the road._
> 
> _“I hope I’ll remember you next time, Light-kun. Ah… I’ll try. We can only fix this if we both remember. I understand, Light-kun. I daresay I understand you, after all this time.”_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_Light’s line of vision is cracked as though it’s glass, but he can still see clearly enough to discern that L is sitting in front of him, perched neatly on a rock, curled almost like a lemur. They’re near some sort of lake, haunted by blue roses growing near the edges – they look fragile, as if crafted from ice.  The sky is filled with stars, but quickly filling with crimson clouds that obscure the visibility.  The clouds are everywhere, are everything._

_L lifts his wrist, and instead of a scar, there’s a red string. He pulls on it gently, sending Light forward – thus prompting Light to realize that the other end of the string is stitched onto his own wrist._

_“What is this?” he says, narrowing his eyes. L is smirking at him, of course, but there are stars all over his hair and Light’s words fall apart because he’s only trying to process what’s happening without sputtering, or yelling, or - worst of all - cracking even further._

_“Be careful, Light,” L says seriously, raising a thumb to his lips. He tugs on the string binding them a little harder, so Light is pulled forward even closer. “Take care to remember, if you can. It’s very important."_

_“Remember what?” Light snaps, dropping any pretense of cordiality. He just wants to go home – the clouds are thickening, looking like it’s going to rain, and heaven only knows what sort of precipitation would come from red clouds. All the while, the lake is growling and the petals of the roses are tumbling off; this world is the mirror of his mind. "Don't be ridiculous."_

_“Remember,” L says plainly. “As it were, I cannot tell you directly. I am not certain I could even speak the words. But surely even you can tell that there must, in fact, be a reason for all this. Ah… Light, I can’t tell you everything, but…”_

_He pulls on the chain one more time, and Light walks with it, the nervous feeling slowly melting from him without even having known it was there to begin with. They’re closer and closer, noses almost touching._

_“Try to remember,” says L._

_He isn’t speaking in riddles, or with tricks, or with eccentricities, not in the way that Light knows him to, but the exchange feels somehow more honest. Light can’t see anything but L’s eyes, filling all of his vision like a disfigured mirror._

_He leans forward even further, just the smallest bit, tilting his head without thinking about it, but L suddenly wraps a hand around his waist and falls deliberately onto the ground, pinning Light underneath him._

_“L,” he says, gritting his teeth, “what the hell was that?”_

_He feels pebbles digging into his skin through his shirt._

_“There's no need to worry, Light,” L says mildly, leaning down so that they’re closer and Light is suddenly aware of their proximity. L is strangely warm, almost comforting against his chest. “Remember this, when you wake up. I’m sure you suspect that you are dreaming, now, but that doesn’t make this any less real, Light.”_

_He leans tantalizingly close, another absurd way of teasing Light, trying to keep him on his toes for some ambiguous reason. It’s like he’s peering into Light’s skin and examining what he finds for invisible clues only he can read._

_Slowly, slowly, L leans down, and Light leans up – like two sides of a mirror, suddenly together._

 

Light wakes from his dream with a start, his chest aching for air, so he’s gasping a little. He feels a cold sweat sticking to his body, but he doesn’t move to bolt upright.  He sees Teru fishing around in his drawer, undoubtedly searching for something to change into given that he’s still wearing pajamas.

As if on cue, Teru turns back and looks at him, a look of surprise almost instantly melting onto his face. “Light?” he asks quietly. “Are you alright? You look…startled.”

Light gives himself into the confusion for only a moment longer before he settles into an easy smile. “I’m fine,” he says. “I had a strange dream, that’s all.”

_L was going to kiss me._

_I was going to kiss him._

_He told me – to remember…_

He’s on the verge of nausea, so he lies still to quell the threat of it. His fingers find his wrist, reassuringly devoid of any threads – rather, he finds only his watch, which tells him it’s seven in the morning. He hadn't slept for long.

Still incredulous, his eyes find the ceiling.

If L’s intention had been to work his way into Light’s head, perhaps he had succeeded. Light for his part feels an odd frustration, one that colors his skin warm and flushed; he can’t help but think he’d lost a battle simply by dreaming at all. Like it were solid proof that L had affected him at all.

It takes him a long while to pick himself out of bed, to clear his irrational thoughts of L.

If Teru finds the silence strange, he says nothing of it, and doesn’t try to interrupt it.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Two days pass, and Light doesn’t see L again until their psychology period Monday morning. He sits stoically in his seat, notebook laid in front of him with a pen untouched. He crosses his arms so hard and so unwavering that he could be a statue.

When L crouches next to him, moving his chair closer, Light resists the peculiarly abrupt urge to hurl his notebook across his room. If he let go and gave in to his intuitive feeling of resentment, his head would be a wreck, but he finds clarity to calm himself when they speak.

“Hello, Light,” L murmurs, and Light throws a glance at him. He’s got his thumb stuck in his mouth again, even when he's talking. “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, thank you,” Light says. “I enjoyed playing tennis with you on Friday. It was a good match.”

Telling lies comes easily to him. And perhaps it had been a good match; as much as he enjoyed the game, he didn’t enjoy L’s company. He thinks of L’s request – “ _be my friend_.”

_As if._

_I don’t even know him._

_I’d never make friends with a stalker like him._

“Ah…. Yes. I do rather agree with you.”

“The rest of the weekend was boring without you,” Light says, before he can think any better of it. Lies make for easy conversation; he spins them out of nothing. It’s almost fun to give L what he wants, while meaning none of it. “We should play again soon.”

Admittedly, that part, at least, might hold some glimmer of truth. He’d like the chance to beat L again, to feel the same rush he did after the last game.

“Yes. I agree, Light,” says L solemnly, turning away to stare at the front of the classroom. He looks significantly more somber than he had on Friday, but no less eccentric. He’s also apparently not interested in making conversation, because he says nothing more.

Light glances at him for only a moment longer. A bit absentmindedly, he looks at L’s lips, if only for a moment, and feels his cheeks flush when he remembers his dream from days ago. It's part of what threatens to break his mind into a wreck. He looks away, turns to face the window, and doesn’t even look back over when the professor enters the room and begins to lecture.

It’s humiliating, that he can’t control his subconscious.

Humiliating, that he glances at all.

He vows to not do so again.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

The moment lecture is over, L stands up to leave. “Goodbye, Light,” he says passively, looking at Light only once before solidly tucking his hands into his pockets and shuffling away. He still doesn’t carry a bookbag with him.

“Goodbye,” Light says, biting back his surprise at L’s quick exit and tucking his pen away into his bag. He’s somewhat relieved by the silence; no interrogations today, no impromptu monologues along the lines of, _it’s nice to meet you, Light Yagami, son of Soichiro Yagami, the genius who solved the Higuchi case. I followed you around, so, now, be my friend._

Outside, clouds obscure the sun.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Bored, Light decides to stop by the campus café on his walk back from class on a whim. The café comprises a charming, small corner of the campus’ student center, separated from the rest of the building by glass doors. Potted plants hang near the windows, with each plant tied to the next with a string of plain white holiday lights. It’s otherwise dimly lit, with the walls painted dark red and the tables and chairs flat black.

There’s no line when Light walks in. He makes eye contact with the barista, who smiles at him so widely he’s certain it might physically damage her.

“Can I help you?” she asks, running her eyes over him.

“Just a black coffee, thanks.”

She continues to smile so hard she might break. Light takes his wallet from his pocket while she rings up his order on the register.

“That’ll be just a few moments,” she says after she’s given him his change. “Wait here.” She flips her hair a little, still beaming at him.

“Sure.”

He reads her nametag; it says _Anne_ in unimaginative, indifferent black letters.

She takes only a few moments to bring him his coffee; Light smiles briefly and says thank you, dropping a dime into the tip cup next to the register. More than anything, he does it because he doesn’t like to carry change around, but she laughs as though he’d told a magnificent joke.

He leaves the counter and takes a seat at a booth lodged against the window. It isn’t until he’s sitting that he realizes that there’s a number and a name – Anne, naturally – scrawled hastily on the collar of the cup.

_Of course._

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead looking at the television hung in the upper corner. The current broadcast features a news story about a man who shot his wife and children, and then shot himself. One kind of disgusts fades into another kind, and Light takes a deep sip of his coffee, revolted by the broadcast.

_People are hideous._

The moment he thinks it, there’s a flash of movement from next to him, and he almost flinches when he hears the unmistakable voice:

“Hello, Light. It’s a surprise to see you here.”

L slides into the spot across from Light in the booth, carrying a coffee in one hand and a fistful of sugar packets in the other.

He looks utterly absurd.

“I see you’ve received a phone number of some sort, Light,” he says observationally without any other pretense of otherwise greeting him, tilting his head to read the side of the cup. “Anne. Do you have a date, Light?”

“Of course not,” says Light, turning his head away. He doesn’t want to be charming, doesn’t want to be polite. He wants to be, above all else, alone.

“Well, Light, I must admit I find that quite strange,” says L mildly, in a small voice. He’s curling around himself, folding into his usual sitting position. “She didn’t write a name and number on mine. Did you order something special?” He blinks, presumably feigning innocence.

Light drums his fingers on the table, forcing a smile. “Better luck next time, I suppose.”

_He must’ve followed me here. I wouldn’t be surprised._

The television screen in the corner flickers as it tells stories about nightmares, delivering the news like a prophet that the world is burning. L doesn’t seem bothered by the grim headlines in earshot, as he flicks the lid off his cup and starts tearing apart sugar packets with his teeth. He dumps them into the steaming mess of coffee, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch the wrappers and dispose of them like carcasses.

“I rather prefer sugar cubes,” he murmurs, as if he’s lost in himself. “Isn’t that right, Light?”

“I drink coffee black,” says Light shortly.

L idly continues to add packets of sugar, still watching Light. “You’re staring at me,” he observes, with a note of something childish, almost prideful, in his voice.

“To be honest, I’m wondering how you can possibly add that much sugar to coffee,” Light remarks, finding that the reply comes to him quickly. “It’ll make your teeth rot.”

L says nothing, only smirks at him. L doesn’t need words to be irritating, Light notes, but he’d known that already.

At the crest of their silence, the television fills in the space.

“New this morning, world-renowned detective Eraldo Coil has been reported missing since last Sunday,” a reporter says. She’s holding a cup of coffee close to her blazer, and her knuckles are white around the collar of it. “Sources reportedly close to him have been quoted as stating that he has not made any contact with them or any other outside sources for weeks at a time, but he was only just reported missing last Sunday. Authorities are investigating….”

“That’s interesting,” Light says, lifting his coffee cup to take another sip.

He considers it briefly. _Surely someone so high-profile as a world class detective couldn’t simply go missing or otherwise just vanish into thin air._

_Either he wanted to go missing, or he was hurt._

He looks over at L, who is suddenly leaning across the table and peering at Light with unusually huge eyes. “Surely,” he says softly, “someone like that could never go missing. They’d choose to be seen as missing. And if he doesn’t want to be found, they won’t be able to find him, that much is certain. But what do you make of it, Light?”

Light hesitates, leaning back from L.

_I can’t get agitated around him._

_He’ll feed off of it, I know he will._

“I was thinking the same,” he says evenly. “It’s an interesting story to report, but it might be an intended front. If he’s a detective, he might be investigating a case undercover.”

He’d heard of Coil, when he worked with his father on the Higuchi case. Even when they’d reached to contact him, Coil hadn’t wanted to help; he reportedly only took cases he was interested in personally. It’s like the thought crosses Light’s mind by slipping across his face, even though he knows it doesn't, because L leans back and smiles pensively.

“Ah… I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Coil, have you?”

“The name is familiar,” Light says, a bit dismissively. He traces an invisible circle onto the tabletop with his thumb.

_I really hadn’t intended for this._

_I didn’t bargain for breakfast with him._

“You’d have heard of him when working to find Higuchi, I’m certain,” L murmurs, but he no longer seems to be speaking directly to Light; he bows his head to look at the ground, visibly lost in thought. Light for his part feels blood rush to his cheekbones, but sips from his coffee to conceal it.

He doesn’t bother saying “ _no, I haven’t heard that name_ ” or “ _I wasn’t involved in the case_ ” because he knows, somehow, that L will disregard him. It’s what he’s done every other time. Let L have his assumptions, he supposes – without affirmation they weren’t worth much of anything, and it didn’t look as though he had many people to run to share gossip with. No one would listen to him anyway.

“But in any case, Light,” L says suddenly, a bit too loudly, lifting his head, “thank you so much for allowing me to sit here. I value your company.”

_Yes! I suppose it’s a good thing, then, that you asked first, right?_

“It’s no trouble,” Light says with a quick smile; lies come to him so easily.

“This has been fun. I hope I may see you for breakfast again sometime,” L adds with a small pout, placing his hands on his knees, and Light nearly looks away. His first instinct is always to look away.

“Certainly.”

_Who cares if I’m lying?_

_He doesn’t need to know._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“You lived in Japan, didn’t you?” Light asks, his hands loose by his sides. L is walking next to him when they leave the coffee shop, with his back hunched in a way that simply can’t be comfortable. It seems as though years of something wordless have weighed on him so much that he can no longer stand straight.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You must’ve heard of Hideki Ryuga, then.”

It’s an innocent enough attempt to make small talk, but L looks over at him as though he’d been stricken, albeit suddenly breaking into a bright smile.

“Why… Hideki Ryuga. Yes, Light, I have. The name is familiar to me.”

“My sister’s obsessed with him,” Light says, leaning away a little as L tilts over to stare at him more closely. He’s sucking on his thumb again, running it around his lips in a peculiar circular motion that makes Light want to jump.

_Really, I don’t understand his mannerisms._

The sound of L sucking on his thumb jumbles his thoughts, leaves his stomach and arms feeling airier, wholly like someone had suddenly removed part of him and he were simply fine, only more weightless and, thus, shaken somehow.

“She likes him?” L mutters, his eyes never leaving Light’s face.

“She – uhh, yes,” Light says, looking away and tucking his hands into his pockets. He stares at one of the buttons on his pale white shirt, distracting himself by noticing the circular design of it.

“Are you very close with her?”

_Why am I still talking to him?_

_Wouldn’t talking to him once in a lifetime have been enough?_

“Well. I helped her with her math homework when I lived at home,” Light says flatly. “She teases me about not having a girlfriend.”

L makes an odd sound, and for a moment Light considers that he had somehow managed to retroactively choke on a pinch of sugar until realizing that he’s simply laughing.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Light adds, as if to clarify, filling in the pause. It’s only the polite thing to do, he supposes, as L struggles with the noise in his throat. “She’s disappointed in me, to an extent – says that good looks aren’t worth much if I can’t get a girlfriend.”

_Girls are only interested in looks._

_They’re too easily pleased._

Realistically, he knows that no girl could keep up with him – he’s simply never had any interest. A romantic relationship could never benefit him; even the thought of such an arrangement bores him.

“Ah… Is that so?”

L asks with a peculiar intensity, as if the entirety of some grand scheme hinges on depth greater than that of Light’s subsequent replies to nothing more than an empty question. He looks like an owl perching precariously on a tree branch, with invisible wings to tuck him closer into himself.

“Yes.”  Light, for his part, says nothing more.

 “Light doesn’t have a girlfriend,” L repeats, speaking to himself. Light glances over, but doesn’t reply. It’s as if the fact is a bit of knowledge L stowing away as evidence for something, some sort of case unknown.

“Light,” he adds after a moment, “you threw away your coffee cup. I can deduce, then, that you are not interested in romantic advances on the whole?”

“Something like that,” says Light, thinking of Anne only to realize that he can barely remember her face. “You sure ask a lot of questions, L.”

He doesn’t bother to mask his comment as anything but for what it is: a simple accusation on L’s apparent lack of need for personal space.

“Yes. That’s correct.”

L, likewise, doesn’t seem to care much for disguising his words. Light wonders idly what crosses the mind of someone with such vacant asteroid eyes, knowing in the same moment that he could probably never discern with certainty. The idea is oddly tantalizing.

Most people are so easy to read, almost disgustingly so.

“You are Light Yagami,” says L after a moment, filling the silence with his quiet voice. “You dislike psychology. You are uninterested by romantic advances. And you always wear your watch on your left wrist. I doubt that you ever take it off.”

A car races past, tires screaming against the pavement, and Light peers over at L a bit curiously.

“I never told you anything about disliking psychology,” he says.

L chews on his thumb, smirking the smallest bit.

“You didn’t have to.”

Light looks away from L, glancing overhead to see that the sky is overcast.

_And he noticed, about the watch…_

_He’s more observant than he looks, I suppose._

_Probably because he’s some sort of stalker._

_I wonder why he chose me._

He almost verbalizes the sentiment in the form of a question, but thinks better of it.

“I think Anne will be quite disappointed when you don’t call her,” L says mildly after a moment. “I am certain that I would be.”

Light glances over to see L borderline leering at him, always with his stupid thumb between his teeth, and grimaces.

_Is he making some sort of commentary that he’d want me to call him in the same manner?_

_Is he…._

_Interested in me, in a way that’s different from friendship?_

_What does he want?_

The thought is abrupt and staggering – he’s uncertain of why it didn’t occur to him earlier. He’s uncertain of what words to use, and his chest contracts with something not entirely unlike the need to scream.

“But I am certain that Light has more important matters to occupy him,” L adds, thoughtfully glancing up at the sky. “Questions of justice and the like.”

“Justice,” Light repeats, a bit flatly, his hands gripping into fists. “What gives you that idea? That came out nowhere.”

It’s a strange comment, one lacking context or background, and Light feels almost instantly suspicious.

“Light is interested in joining the police force, like his father,” L says, blinking slowly, speaking as if Light were not, in fact, standing directly next to him. “And I saw the way he watched the television reports this morning. Undoubtedly he is heavily occupied by his studies.”

_No. I am bored... or something of the sort. You wouldn't understand._

But Light says nothing. They’ve almost reached his residence hall, anyway – so he says nothing to L about how the justice system is flawed, that it’s a broken implementation incapable of sentencing obviously guilty criminals, and that his becoming a member of the police force will likely do nothing to change the corruption as the monster it is. He says nothing about the frustration at the very thought of it; he just grits his teeth, unsure of where his indignation spills from but determined to not give L the satisfaction of a response.

He’s no one but a stranger, anyway.

“Light Yagami, you are very interesting,” says L, and his voice is almost gentle. Light turns to look at him, finding that L is regarding him with a softer smile on his lips. “I’m sure there are many things you’re thinking that you’ve said nothing of, but I look forward to hearing them someday.”

Light stops in his tracks, L pausing next to him. They glance at each other, neither moving, neither speaking.

_It’s almost like he steps into my mind, when he says things like that._

_Like he can read me._

_What, exactly, does he know?_

Light feels a raindrop fall at the back of his neck, and he shivers. “I should go inside,” he mutters, cupping a hand at the same place he felt the raindrop. They’re almost at his residence hall; it’s in sight, at the top of the hill.

L stares at him, a small piece of hair running jagged over his forehead. “That’s very well, Light,” he says. “It appears as though it will storm later. Take care.”

He looks so disheveled, with his shirt hanging off of too-thin shoulders, that it’s almost pathetic. He looks small, curled into himself along the the dramatic curve of his spine – he almost seems to be shivering, even in the crackling warmth of the afternoon.

Light nods, once, and turns away without saying anything more. Until –

“Oh, and Light?”

He turns back, unsure of why he does; his heart presses against his ribcage, uncomfortably so.

“Yes?” he asks, the word echoing in his head.

_Yes, yes, yes._

“Thank you for the conversation,” L says, raising his voice somewhat; another raindrop falls on Light, this time on the back of his hand, between the ridges of his knuckles. “Light is good company.”

Light nods again, and turns away, uncertain if he could say the same for L.

At least – at the _very_ least – when he’s with L, he isn’t bored. But he couldn’t articulate the sentiment even if he tried, so he simply doesn’t.

_Until next time, then… L._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light thinks clearly when he closes the door into his room; Teru is nowhere to be seen, and Light nearly slumps against the wall.

_This whole time – has L been flirting?_

_Is that what this is?_

_Then why does he act like he’s known me for a long time?_

_What’s his motive?_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

As long as L keeps compelling him to ask questions, he knows, predictably, he’ll lunge forward to try to discern them. He has so far, at least.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_Until next time, then… L._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were an actual novel, scenes other than L and Light's interactions would be fleshed out more to develop Light's characterization more directly, but as it stands this isn't directly translated into novel form.
> 
> As L increasingly reveals that he knows things that are of use to Light, Light's intrigue builds. Never think for a moment that L doesn't have the upper hand, here; this is all by his design, at the moment. Attraction for Light at this point is indeed constituted as "well, I'm not bored around you." He isn't repulsed by L's alleged flirting simply because it builds intrigue in his mind. 
> 
> I stole the name Anne, as it's my own middle name. Heh.


	6. Scorpius: To Avoid Any Further Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Scorpius is a zodiacal constellation. The scorpion is generally believed to be responsible for the death of the great hunter Orion. According to some myths, the scorpion stung Orion in response to his boast that he could defeat any beast; according to others, it was sent by Apollo, who was concerned for his sister Diana's continued chastity.
> 
> In either case, Scorpius was placed in the opposite side of the sky from Orion so as to avoid any further conflict. It is to the southeast of Libra, and is marked by the bright red star Antares. (Antares is Greek for "Rival of Ares," the Greek war-god. The star is so named because of of its brightness and color, which are approximately the same as of the planet Mars. Mars, of course, is the Roman name for Ares.)"

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

> _L smiles a little when he takes off his mask, holding it in his hand for a moment until he places it gently over Light’s face. Slowly, he leans forward and kisses Light’s forehead, still with the mask between them. The fireflies watching their silhouettes hide behind forest trees and dance with secrets underfoot; they look like shimmering pieces of stars, melted into the unworthy earth._
> 
> _“We’ll be doing this forever,” L whispers into Light’s ear, and Light shivers._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

> _All the pieces come together, when he dies in Light’s arms for what must’ve been the thousandth time. He remembers. He remembers all of it. The mission he forgot, the things that became lost somewhere in time until he was pulled back._
> 
> _His last thought –_
> 
> _It will always be correct to state that Light Yagami is Kira._
> 
> _But I…_
> 
> _He feels himself being dragged into the dark, remembers where he will go._
> 
> _Can’t save him._
> 
> _Can’t solve the puzzle._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

> _Light remembers the flat edge of L’s hipbone, and pays attention to it. He has his memories back, and they sharpen his teeth. He’s almost tempted to sink them into the hollow of L’s throat, but he resists, at least for the moment._
> 
> _He kisses L so hard that he almost – almost – forgets about the Death Note lying on their nightstand, but doesn’t forget what it means. He wants to wrap his hands so tightly around L that his bones snap and shatter into the sheets, useless and discarded._
> 
> _L kisses him back with his eyes wide open, observant as he maps invisible equations over Light’s face. L must know, surely, that it’s Kira who’s touching him, but he doesn’t pull away. He lifts his hands to rest on Light’s shoulders, cool and tentative as rain._
> 
> _It’s getting cooler outside, as summer sets past the horizon and in turn autumn rises to rule the night._
> 
> _(It would be L’s last summer in this world, and he wouldn’t live to see the winter.)_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

> _Of course, of course, a man with a mess of ink black hair stands on the street. It’s pouring, and his trenchcoat hangs over his shoulders. It doesn’t do much to protect him from getting drenched, but being waterlogged isn’t entirely unpleasant. It reminds him he’s alive._
> 
> _The house he watches still has lights on, glimmering through the curtains covering the windows. It’s late, and the family will probably be sleeping soon._
> 
> _The man in the trenchcoat closes his eyes and listens to the sound of rain falling on his skin, breathes and feels water on his lips. When he opens his eyes, two lights are turned off. He waits until the last one is burned out before he whispers within earshot of the ghosts even he can’t see:  
>  “Goodnight, Light-kun. Sleep well. I am glad you’re safe another day.” _
> 
> _He dips his head, and droplets that had been stuck to his hair dip off of him and arc, dizzily, to the ground._
> 
> _It’s a bonus point that when it’s raining so hard like this, he can’t feel any of the teardrops sticking to his face._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

By the time he’s three, Light Yagami can read at an unprecedented rate; it’s alarming to his parents, especially when he asks for more difficult stories. His mother and father pause, frown a little, and say:

“Maybe you should wait for a bit before starting those.”

A statement to which Light responds with silent frustration, clenching his jaw together so hard he gives himself a headache and knowing he can do nothing about it.

By the time he’s five, he’s already bored at school. Each day drags its feet, passes by without teaching him anything new. He learns much faster than his classmates; he has perfect handwriting, can easily puzzle through math problems intended for students years ahead of him. He thinks so fast that it makes everyone around him dizzy and he’s _bored, bored, bored_. Everyone else wants to play with toys – he wants to read. Idle conversation with silly children at school fails to interest him; girls giggle at him and boys tackle each other, and he’s _bored, bored, bored_.

Things don’t improve, when he grows older. The only reprieve he feels is when he’s pouring over the desk with his father, so close to the resolution of the Higuchi case that there’s a spectacular thrill in him. But that was only once.

He chases other things: more literature, more tennis, but he’s increasingly frustrated to find that not only does nothing fulfill him – emptiness goes so far as to actively build a hole in him, and he turns to watch the world rot.

And so boredom and resentment ache in him like chronic illness.

_It doesn’t get better._

_It doesn’t get better._

_It doesn’t get –_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_Of course he had been flirting._

Light’s vision is filled with the memory of L’s saucer plate eyes.  He sees them instead of the book he’s supposed to be reading, sees them instead of noticing his desk.

_What was L?_

Not easily intelligible, a stalker of sorts, somehow sharp in the same way as a knife that had been dulled and reshaped time and time again. He’s smart, Light considers, with bits of him shining through at times, but for the most part he seems somewhat off.

He wonders idly what L would call him.

The intrigue of dissecting such a mystery figure is enough for Light to not immediately dismiss L altogether. If it was Light’s attention L had wanted to catch from the start, perhaps he was winning, but only because Light allowed it.

_And if it’s true he was flirting – well, I could use that for something._

Something – well, it’s ambiguous, anyway, but _something_.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

And so, on Wednesday, when L asks him,“ _If_ , _Light, maybe you’d like to get lunch later today, and we can discuss Freudian psychoanalysis and subsequent psychoanalytical treatment in the context of elucidating results from subjects, as explored in chapter six of the textbook?_ ” – Light agrees to go.

He wants to gauge just how intelligent L actually is, and he believes himself.

(He doesn't realize he's even telling himself lies.)

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light finds L crouched on a bench outside of the cafeteria that afternoon, with his shoes neatly tucked underneath the seat. The sun is dipping behind a handful of clouds, a few scattered rays casting an anticlimactic halo on the crown of L’s hair.

“Hey! Light!” L calls, when he approaches; he waves his arm ridiculously, trying to catch Light’s attention. Light flashes him a wide smile, glancing up at the sky that grows darker with every moment.

“How’s it going?” L asks, tilting his head to the side and grazing his thumb with his teeth.

“I'm fine,” Light says, his eyes lingering on L’s feet for a moment. L seems to notice, and shuffles to scoop his shoes from underneath the bench.

“We should go inside,” he says seriously, blinking at Light as he slips the shoes on. “Ah… It looks like it’ll be raining soon.”

“That’s true,” Light says, looking around at the people passing them by. A pair of girls smiles at him; one of them giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. He looks away, disinterested, only to find that L is staring at him with curiosity.

“Shall we?” he says, glancing at the cafeteria.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Are you actually interested in psychology, Light?” L asks, when they’ve settled into the same booth as they had the first time coming together. “Or are you here for something else?” Thoughtful, he licks one of his fingers, and Light nearly flinches.

But he covers his unease with a natural smile, looking down at his plate. “Of course I’d like to discuss psychology,” he says. "That's why I said I'd go."

“Yet, you don’t care for the subject.”

“We’re in a psychology class,” Light asks, stirring his food with a fork. It seems he hasn’t eaten for days – he has no appetite for anything. “I have to care enough to pass.”

It’s a lie.

L smiles at him, a bit mischievously. “Is that true, Light Yagami?” he says. “Or perhaps you’re lying to cover the fact that you could pass the entire class by spending a single hour of your time skimming the material? Or, otherwise, working intuitively.”

Light stares back, his eyes blank. “No one could accomplish such a thing,” he says dismissively. He watches L’s slender fingers curl around his spoon and feels an unfamiliar pull in his stomach; he can’t help but look away.

“You always come back,” L says a bit suddenly, seeming to speak to himself. He lowers his head and pushes the spoon back and forth against the plate, ignoring the slice of cake in its wake. “Mmm… Light, I consistently ask you intrusive questions and you always come back.”

He smiles a bit childishly, like he’s won something.

“You follow me,” Light says, too fast. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

Inside his head, alarm bells are sounding.

“Do I interest you?” L asks plainly, his eyes stretching even wider – an observation which surprises Light to an extent. “Or perhaps it’s my forward nature, which both intrigues and baffles you. Either way, I am selfish and I will take it.” He pauses, sucks on his thumb. “It must take something extraordinary to surprise Light Yagami, the bored genius.”

“What are you even talking about?” Light says, his voice so low as to almost be a growl. “Did you decide that from research?”

(A small bit of him whispers that he’s interested. Another part is angry that L could learn so much about him, especially those things rooted in truth.)

“No,” L says in a quieter voice, lowering his head a little. “All you have to do is simply look, Light. Anyone who cares enough could tell. You don’t expect others to notice your boredom, so you don’t bother hiding it. You’re charming and handsome, and so no one notices anything more than that.”

“And you really think you know all this?” Light says, leaning back and abruptly finding himself playing the part of the bemused superior. He can’t decide which approach to take and his brain is moving so fast he’s almost dizzy; calm wars with indignation.

“You’ve been empty so long that you hardly know what to do now,” L adds observationally, “so you fluctuate between being upset with me and disguising it. You are most interesting, Light.” He lifts his spoon to his lips and absently licks it.

_Why is he always licking things? Seriously?_

Light crosses his arms and says nothing in response to L’s accusation, but heat rushes through his body.

“Either way,” L says, with a hint of a sly smile, “I am glad, Light. It’s an honor.”

His words are ambiguous and Light frowns slightly.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and his eyes linger on L’s collarbone. He’s so thin for a ghost, all sharp edges, but Light feels a glow in his stomach again anyway.

“It’s an honor to be your friend. I care for you,” L says, his eyes shining in a ridiculous way.

_Of course._

_It’s a lie. It has to be._

_I can’t just outright ask him why he’s following me._

_Or, I could, but –_

“Why did you follow me that first day?” Light says evenly.

There’s no point in being polite when L clearly shares no such intentions.

“I think you are interesting,” L says, running his eyes over Light and settling on his plate. “Are you going to eat anything more?”

“I don’t think I’m hungry,” Light says, traces of bitterness in his voice.

_That’s not all of it._

_He’s not going to tell me…._

“We should leave, then,” L says, “before it starts raining harder.”

Two sides of the same coin, they glance out the window in the same moment.

 _I guess I’ll just have to get it out of him, then,_ Light supposes, glancing back over to L while he’s still staring out the window. His hair is so long that it brushes his shoulders in an unruly mop; it provides a strong contrast with his almost sickly pale skin.

The prospect of outwitting him is oddly appealing.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” says Light, as they stare outside through the front doors of the cafeteria. He glances sideways at L, who merely remarks, “Hmm.”

They watch as students coming into the cafeteria huddle into their coats, some clutching umbrellas with bleached white knuckles. One is wearing a poncho resembling a plastic bag, and Light realizes his thin white shirt will do little to protect him from the rain.

“I was watching the window the whole time we were eating,” L says, chewing on his thumb, “but I didn’t realize it would become serious so quickly. Ah… Perhaps I should’ve had more foresight.”

He stands there for only a moment longer before he pushes the door open and is almost immediately drenched by the downpour. His hair is quickly stuck to his neck, his shirt soaked, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Light follows, a bit reluctantly.

The storm seems to whisper something, but he can barely hear it. The wind howls as it skirts around the buildings on either side of them, and Light concentrates on L’s back, but he can barely discern L’s figure as the rain shimmers and paints the space between them. If he squints, it almost looks like L is a mirage of Light himself.

That is, until L turns, and his eyes are so large that it would be impossible to miss them even through the haze. He stops, and Light freezes at the same moment, pausing until L beckons for him to come closer.

Hesitantly, Light steps forward, shielding his eyes from the rain by using a hand pressed over his forehead.

“Light,” L says, so softly that it’s almost impossible to hear him over the storm, “I think you must know how to love, when you seek friendship. Anyone who does anything otherwise must, most certainly, be a monster.”

Light frowns.

“We should get inside,” he says dismissively, wholly ignoring L's statement. “You’ll catch a cold, if you stand out here for too long.”

_He’s so strange._

_Who even says things like that?_

It's easy to lie to himself, to pretend he doesn't want to lean until his nose is nearly brushing L’s.

L continues as though he hadn’t heard Light. “I feel,” he says, taking another step forward, “that you are the first genuine friend I have ever had.”

Light flinches, noticing how close L is standing to him, but his stomach flips at the same moment, constructing something of a grotesque conflict of interest he doesn't care to dissect.

_You know, L, friendship isn’t following someone around._

_Or observing them until you think you know everything about them._

And even so, some part of him supposes –

_He certainly seems to be bright, in a way._

_He could be interesting to keep around._

“I feel that I get along well with you, too,” Light says, smiling a little and finding the gesture is less forced than he anticipated.

L stares at him and says nothing, but doesn’t move to walk away.

_In a way, him confessing such a thing puts me in a vulnerable place, as the recipient._

_But he’s the vulnerable one, by saying such foolish things. I could use him, for all he knows. I could make fun of him. I could -_

“We’ll have to play tennis again soon,” Light adds, glancing at the ground and noticing L’s shoes. They’re ratty old tennis sneakers, with fabric frayed on the sides and shoelaces barely tied. “Tryouts will take place soon.”

“Indeed, Light.”

L shares one last look with him before turning away, his hair almost dipping in front of his eyes. He’s completely soaked and standing close enough that Light can see through the fabric of his long white shirt. It clings to his back in some sort of revealing way, and Light looks in the other direction.

He notices that his hands are curved into fists, and doesn’t remember when he’d done it.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

It rains all day.

Light attempts to fall asleep, but finds he cannot. Something nameless distracts him, and calls to him through the piercing cries of the storm. 

He finds himself wandering into the hallway at an early hour, clutching his cellphone in his palm, closing the door gently so as not to disturb Teru.

He hates himself for doing it, but he finds one particular number in his phone: L’s. They had exchanged numbers in the morning, after L asked to meet him for lunch. Light had been certain he’d never use it, but he can’t dream and feels the senseless need to reach to something. Maybe he wants someone to tell him to go to sleep.

When L answers the call, Light is both surprised and revolted, at least partially at himself.

“Light. May I ask what you’re doing, awake at this hour?” L says coolly. His voice sounds slightly different through the phone – less eccentric, deeper. “You need to sleep. You wouldn’t want to disturb your studies. What do you need?”

There’s something almost, _almost_ satisfied in L’s tone.

“Actually,” Light says, overcome with a wave of frustration almost instantly, “I’m not sure. I should go.”

“Ah. Were you going to ask me to take you stargazing?” L says, and Light imagines the flat expression accompanying the sarcasm. “I’m afraid I’m booked, at the moment. There’s quite the crowd gathered to look at the sky tonight.”

Light feels indignation wash over him, familiar and comfortable.

_Why the hell did I call him anyway?_

_What did I really expect?_

“What are you up to, anyway, L?” Light fires back, grateful that there’s no one in the hallway to witness the manifestation of his caustic tone.

“That’s nothing of consequence,” comes the predictably enigmatic reply, and Light squeezes his eyes shut when he hears L sucking his thumb through the phone. “If you’d like to come visit me, Light, I’m at my residence hall.”

“No, thanks,” Light says sharply, but then adds: “Maybe another night.”

“Very well then. Good night, Light. Or, more precisely, good morning.”

“Fine.”

Light hangs up, punching his finger onto the red button. Breathing deeply and slowly finding his footing, he wanders outside, leaving the residence hall. He doesn’t even think to check his pockets before coming to his senses, in the rain, and subsequently realizing he doesn’t have his keys with him.

_Damn. Damn…. That’s not…_

_That’s not like me at all._

He mutters a quick curse under his breath before calculating his options. He could call Teru to let him back in, but there was a good chance that Teru had turned off his phone for the night. He could wait for someone to come and open the door, but it was three in the morning on a weekday night. There was hardly a chance that anyone would walk by, at least anytime soon, and he could already feel the bite of the cold rain on him.

He watches heaven crash onto the sidewalk for only a few moments before he realizes his best option – the only one that had ever been there all along, and suddenly the rain sounds thunderous.

Slowly, Light pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials the same number he had called only moments earlier.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Light. It’s been a while.”

Light grits his teeth, with the rain slapping against his spine like needles.

“Don’t give me any of that. I changed my mind.”

L pauses, as if he were muffling a laugh.

“Ah. I see. You locked yourself out, Light.”

_Was there any point in lying?_

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Light says, knowing that the sound of the rain would probably be very audible to the other line. He lies anyway.

“I’m at my residence hall,” L says, sounding almost bored. “It’s the one called Hawthorn. I’ll be waiting outside for you, Light. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up without listening for Light’s response.

Light, for his part, shivers – unsure if the cause could be attributed to the weather, or knowledge of where he’s planning to go. He slips his phone back into his pocket, and braces himself for stepping out into the storm’s full wrath.

He thinks of being in close quarters with L, and his stomach flips.

_Well._

_It could be interesting._

 

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, everyone. It's making way for better things next chapter, I promise. Next chapter, the story really starts!
> 
> The first flash-alternate-universe is a tribute to Hotarubi no Mori e, which broke my heart in the best way possible.
> 
> I'm sorry this update is pretty late and not as desirable as it could be. I have finals soon and I've been so busy, and have barely had time or energy for anything. Meh. At least break is soon!
> 
> (*** Bonus: I have in fact had a discussion with raconteur-incognito about the last section: "This is the manifestation of thousands of years of work on L's behalf: a bootycall from Light")


	7. Taurus: In the Name of Love (Or Something Like That)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "Majesty and love go ill together, nor can they long share one abode. Abandoning the dignity of his sceptre, the father and ruler of the gods, whose hand wields the flaming three-forked bolt, whose nod shakes the universe, adopted the guise of a bull.... (Metamorphoses II 847-858)."

 

 

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_“Imagine a room,_

_a sudden glow. Here is my hand, my heart,_

_my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated_

_cities at the center of me, and here is the center_

_of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we_

_can drink from, but I can’t go through with it._

_I just don’t want to die anymore.”_ || "[Saying Your Names](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/saying-your-names-crush-by-richard-siken-2004-winner/)", Richard Siken

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves_

_you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself_

_a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy,_

_and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to_

_choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and_

_he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your_

_heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you_

_don’t even have a name for.”_ || "[You Are Jeff](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/you-are-jeff-crush-by-richard-siken/)", Richard Siken

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

The night hands like a sea over Light’s head, crashing and swirling with as much force as any wave. He feels like he may be bowled over at any moment, but grits his teeth and continues walking. His shirt is, again, soaked; any attempt to squint and peer through the darkness is borderline futile, the rain blinds him so thoroughly.

_I can’t believe I forgot my key._

_And to think I have to go deal with L, now of all times._

_I should be grateful he’s letting me stay with him._

_But…_

He can’t explain the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, so he pushes it down until he’s numb.

_I could’ve called a resident assistant. It’s still not too late._

But he’s almost at L’s residence hall, from what he can tell, and he finds that in some way, he’s not wholly unhappy about going. He’s vibrantly awake and somehow alert – perhaps because of how cold the rain is on his back, especially as water pools at the ends of his hair and slides down his neck. Realistically, even if he went back to his room, he probably wouldn’t sleep.

When he sees the rough outline of the hall silhouetted in the dark, he can also, if barely, see a faint glow from something vibrantly white right at the base near the doors: a glow that snaps into focus more as he walks closer, until Light can deduce with certainty that the origin is nothing other than L’s shirt. L himself is standing underneath the overhang, hunched awkwardly with his spine pressed against the brick of the building. Light feels a sudden, begrudging gratitude.

“Ah. Hello, Light,” says L innocently, when Light is within earshot.

“L,” says Light, a bit dryly. “Three in the morning suits you. Although, I must say, thank you for this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” says L, noticeably running his eyes over Light, factoring the soaked clothes and messy hair into some invisible equation. “Let’s get inside, shall we? You’re drenched.”

He turns to the doors and moves to take his keys out of his pocket, smiling a little. “I calculated the odds that you might strangle me if I pretended that I, too, forgot my keys, but…mmm…anyways…” He trails off as, unbeknownst to him, Light glowers at the back of his head.

_Of course I’d be able to see through a lie like that._

The belly of the residence hall is bright and warm, with cinderblock walls painted an absurd shade of yellow. L looks ridiculously out of place, vulnerable and washed out, but Light refrains from making any comments that would harm his chance of staying indoors. He follows L through the halls, climbing up three flights of stairs and leaving a trail of raindrops behind them all the way. He’s his own cloud.

“You never did answer,” Light asks abruptly, when they’re at the top of the third floor, “why you were awake at three in the morning, anyway.”

“Ah, yes,” L says, turning his head to the side so Light can glimpse his profile, sharp and hollowed. “I am awake to help you.”

“But..." Light pauses. "Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

“Nothing of consequence, I can assure you. Although, I might ask the same of you, Light.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you try counting sheep? I’ve heard that practice wields considerably potent results. There is a sixty percent chance of that working for you, Light, although I suspect you may be too bright to fall for such tricks.”

He flashes a smile over his shoulder that almost makes Light trip over his saturated shoelaces. Before he can counter with a proper response, L stops at an indiscriminate door at the corner of the hall and slides his key into the lock.

When L opens the door, Light realizes:

_Ah._

_He has a single room._

_No roommate._

The only light in the room stems from a laptop, placed right at the center of the floor, and while it illuminates the edges of the space, every detail is shrouded in shadow. There are almost no signs that anyone has inhabited the room for an extended period of time, save for bedsheets barely discernable through the darkness.  Light follows L hesitantly, feeling himself shiver as his wet shirt clings to his back.

Almost immediately, L grabs a shirt from a dresser tucked against the wall. He tosses it to Light.

“Try that. Leave the other one in the corner.”

He turns away as Light unbuttons the wet shirt, and throws it to the side of the room. From what Light can tell, the dry shirt is plain white and long-sleeved, perhaps unsurprisingly.

“Take these, too.”

Light glances up as L tosses him something else – something, he discerns as he unfolds it, resembling a pair of pants. He shrugs off the rest of his clothes, leaving his shoes by the door. L’s still turning to face a corner as Light slips on the new pants. They aren't smooth, but they're warm, and, again, Light finds himself begrudgingly grateful.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“It’s no trouble.”

Turning back at the verbal cue, L half-smiles at him through the dim light, and then crouches in front of his computer. He hugs his knees close to his chest and lifts a thumb to his lips.

“What are you working on?” Light asks, a bit hesitantly. Even considering his misgivings about L, he’s almost, _almost_ something like comfortable.

Naturally, he supposes, it’s the haze of being awake at three in the morning that clouds his vision and whispers to him to let his guard down, if only just a bit.

“Come look,” L says quietly, glancing up at Light, who moves to join L on the floor in front of the computer.

_Why doesn’t he put it on a desk or something…?_

_He’s still strange, but seems… Different, somehow._

Light blinks, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the screen surrounded by the dark. When he can see clearly, he notices he’s looking at a nearly blank screen. The only words discernible on the screen are:

_Scale of the Universe. Let’s play!_

“What do you say, Light?” L murmurs from beside him, noticeably leaning forward. “We should play.”

He grabs Light’s hand and moves it to the computer’s trackpad. Light, for his part, notices his heart skip a beat, feels an unexpected flush in his cheeks.

_Why’s he doing that?_

_What the hell?_

_His hand’s warm._

He swallows and tries to concentrate on the screen in front of them.

_There’s no reason to be nervous._

_It’s only L._

“Watch this,” L murmurs, and moves Light’s fingers to the left.

The screen depicts various objects, all of different sizes, compared to each other. The original frame shows an ant compared in length and width to a sesame seed; as they scroll to the left, there are more diagrams, showing increasingly smaller objects in proportion to those from the original frame. They see the wavelength of an X-ray depicted in juxtaposition with the wavelength of an electron compton; and so on, and so forth, until they reach the diagrams of the diagram’s far left – quantum foam, right next to a Planck length, also compared with theoretical strings from the string theory.

“All of this comprises everything we do,” L says softly, not letting go of Light’s hand.  “It’s rather introspective, by some interpretations. Isn’t it amazing that we can think at all? That you and I can…”

Light looks over, sees L glance at their hands on the keyboard. There’s a warm flash on his skin that dissolves in waves and he finds he can say nothing.

“But now,” L continues, staring at the screen again, “we can look in the other direction.”

He interlocks his hand with Light’s, so their fingers are one jumbled, knotted mess, and scrolls with dizzying rapidity in the other direction.

_Is this fine?_

Light closes his eyes.

_Even if he were my friend…_

_Do friends do…that?_

He finds he doesn’t have a clear answer, but also doesn’t feel the need to pull away.

Everything dissolves, save for the invisible embers flickering underneath his skin.

Within moments, L returns them to the original screen. It features a human’s size compared to those of a dodo bird’s, a worm’s, a beach ball’s. Symbols and diagrams flash past their eyes as L keeps scrolling in the opposite direction now, and they watch as smaller scales make way for larger ones. They see states compared to moons, and small planets like Pluto.

“Watch carefully, Light,” L whispers, leaning so close to the computer screen Light thinks his nose might actually brush against it.

_Why’s he so intent on this? On looking at this scale until this hour?_

_He needs sleep._

_He’s clearly sleep deprived._

Soon enough, they see planets on the screen pulse with strange and ghastly brightness, the sun compared against other stars. Before he knows it they’re looking at galaxies – so many galaxies – and Light is almost dizzy.

L stops only when they reach the rightmost edge of the scale, a screen that reads simply:

_The end of the observable universe._

“It’s more overwhelming if you watch it slowly,” L notes, his fingers still tied with Light’s. “But this is astronomy. Quite remarkable, if I do say so, the bounds and reach of human knowledge.”

“Naturally,” Light says. In any other circumstance, he’d respond with some obscure fact he’d picked up somewhere about the solar system, but he has the sense L wouldn’t be dazzled by it as anyone else might be.

_Of course not._

_He’s not anyone else._

He’s even more aware of their hands, clasped in a warm and dry embrace. 

“There are so many mechanics driving everything we do,” L continues, “and it’s really rather remarkable. The universe is a strange place. You never know, Light, what you might find.”

“That may be so, but many aspects of life are predictable,” Light says idly, tilting his head to the side and glancing around the room. He sees the outline of a bed against the wall, covered by dark grey sheets. “People are predictable.”

It’s a foolish thing to say to the person who has defied his expectations, but he says it anyway. Maybe he just wants to argue. 

“Is that so, Light?” L asks, leaning closer to him with a strange abruptness and lifting their hands from the laptop, holding the grip tighter. “Predictable, you say?”

His eyes are huge in the dark, and Light swallows.

“Do you usually do this?” he asks, suddenly indignant all at once but quietly so, like he’s been backed into a corner he’d willingly retreated into. He realizes that’s precisely where he is. “Do you always grab peoples’ hands like this to show them things on the computer?”

“It may surprise you to learn that I, in fact, do not,” L whispers, leaning closer still, almost brushing his nose against Light’s. Light can tell that L is tense, curled into a ball still but unmoving.

“Am I a special case, then?” Light asks, a bit dryly, but his voice is so soft that even the walls couldn’t possibly hear him. He’s humming from some ambiguous electric shock, so curled and wired to him that every inch he moves feels like a new earthquake shaking him apart.

_Where did this come from?_

“I told you, Light, I find you interesting,” L says gently, and raises his other hand. Light feels a cool palm linger on his cheek and he closes his eyes, leaning his head into the gesture instinctively before thinking any better of it.

(All things should be logical – calculable, predictable, sensible.)

It seems like the natural progression, then, that when Light opens his eyes L is hovering right in front of him almost like he’s studying the map of Light’s very existence, using his fingertips to map it out.

(All things should make sense. They can be boiled down to logic.)

So it makes sense that it’s Light who leans forward and kisses L first, because it’s in his nature to act first. It always has been, and this is just what he has to do. There's nothing else he could do.

L makes a small noise of surprise at the gesture but doesn’t pull away. Their hands are still clasped at the side, L’s palm against Light’s cheek. Light’s fingers find the small of L’s back, his mind both racing and frozen in the dark illuminated only by the laptop next to them.

It’s overwhelmingly surreal to be engaging with L at all; particularly as L responds to the kisses, and goes so far as to pull himself into Light’s lap and wrap his legs around Light’s waist, as if he’d been waiting for an eternity to touch and be touched.

In Light’s mind, kissing L feels like rain, tastes like it even more so, cool and sharp and there’s not enough of L for his hands. He wants to pull L’s hair back until he can run his teeth over the arc of his neck, and so he shivers and moves his hands to run a finger down the warm middle of L’s stomach from overtop the thin fabric of his shirt.

He squeezes his eyes shut; he’s shaking, but not from fear. It seems objectively more like need, even though he knows _need_ isn’t something familiar to him.

Perhaps more accurately still, it’s all from foolish adrenaline.

Abruptly alarmed at himself as he realizes what he wants, Light pulls back and watches L’s eyes grow wider with something not unlike wonder. Light feels L’s hand wrapped in his and he’s stricken wordless when he looks at L - L, with his shirt askew and his arms limp at the side. He wants L to touch him, but he wants to run away.

_I never even considered wanting anything like this, even once before him._

_He’s been following me. I don’t know his intentions._

_I don’t even know him._

“It’s worth noting that I don’t care,” L murmurs, extracting his fingers from Light’s hand and placing them instead at his lips as if he could still taste the kiss, “if you’re only using me, Light, for whatever purpose you choose.”

“I could never manipulate someone’s feelings like that,” Light says, but his mind is racing. “There’s nothing I could use your feelings for, anyway. For all I know, they’re contrived for some reason you’re hiding.”

He’s saying senseless things without meaning, trying to smooth the discord that pricks at him as he reels and stares at his hands.

_Why did I do that?_

_Why did I kiss him?_

_Why do I still – want –_

He can’t look at L. He looks anywhere but at L, until L leans forward and places a slim finger just underneath his chin. By any other account, it would seem a sweet gesture, but Light has no choice other than to stare back at him. It's like he's being disarmed.

“I have nothing but admiration for you, Light Yagami,” says L, very seriously, “and that’s why I’ve wanted to see you since the first day.”

His words are soft, but there’s an edge to them, and something unexpected scatters Light’s thoughts. He leans forward and kisses L again, leaving a hand at the sharp angle of L’s hip, just above the waistband of his jeans.

_I can use this, I can use this, I can use this._

He notices, objectively, that he always tells himself the same thing.

He’s good at lying, even to himself.

There always has to be use for something, he knows.

“You don’t trust me,” L murmurs in between kisses, his words soft against Light’s chin, “and it’s true that you admittedly have no reason to. I was an unexpected guest with a keen, unparalleled interest...” He breaks off, breathing in sharply as though something had scorched him from the inside out. “So you suspect I have some ulterior motive that I’m hiding. You think you can match my interest with suspicion. But I care about you. I won’t hurt you.”

He sighs deeply, shuddering against Light’s lips as he says the last word.

There’s nothing powerful in the simple idea of L shaking underneath his hands, but to Light, the idea of having such considerable influence over someone – over L, in particular, if inexplicably – is so immediate he almost gasps.

He bites it back.

“I never suspected anything of the sort,” he lies in response to L’s words, his own voice breathy and hushed and foreign to his own ears.

With that, L pushes him back gently so they’re both lying on the floor and Light holds him by the waist, a tangled mess of limbs. L positions himself so that he rubs his hips into Light’s, a gesture accompanied by the quietest of whimpers. Light feels an unexpected shock in his stomach, an intrusive jolt that dissolves and crests with more warmth and he pulls L down, closer to him, as close as he can manage but it’s still not enough.

_It’s only L._

_It’s only L._

He pretends to not feel anything when he hears another soft moan, as L presses against him a second time and leaves his lips at his neck. He nearly loses himself in it, holding L tighter to him.

It takes only a moment – only a single glance at the laptop screen to remember where he is and who he's with, to remember a simple question:

_What the hell am I doing?_

Light snaps to his senses in an instant, feeling that someone had pulled him out from underneath a slowly freezing lake. 

_I didn't come here for this._

He says:

“I have to go.”

L jumps, nearly comical as he falls onto his lower back out of Light’s lap and pushes himself as far away as possible, almost swaying back and forth as if caught in a strong wind.

“Naturally,” he says in an even voice, sitting up a little straighter but still scrambling. He seems almost perfectly composed, save for his posture and the few clumps of his hair sticking up at strange angles. Light feels self conscious, as he stumbles to his feet and L stares at him with those huge eyes.

It wasn’t, Light supposes as he checks his pockets to make sure he has his phone, that he had disliked it.

Worse – he had liked the feeling.

He’s still locked out of his room, but he doesn’t care.

He just needs to leave. Everything is going too fast - their touches, his depart. All of it. 

As he steps over the threshold, he hears L from behind him:

“I am sorry. I got ahead of myself. I forgot…”

Light doesn’t turn back.

Because –

_I did, too._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_I’ve never been so humiliated._

He’d never kissed anyone before.

He tries to place the feeling trickling into him, as he paces outside and notices with only part of his brain that it’s since stopped raining. He stays underneath the overhang anyway, watching as the shadows of trees leak water to the ground. A quick glance at his watch reveals it’s almost four in the morning. He already knows what he feels, but it prickles at him uncomfortably and demands a concrete name.

L had swallowed him with his eyes and Light had wanted it, wanted so badly to intoxicate L, that he forgot himself willingly to drink the poison, and liked it impulsively. He forgot Light Yagami, forgot about all of it, forgot himself and wanted to. 

_I kissed him._

_I wanted to._

_Does that mean –_

He flinches, and doesn’t finish the question.

_It was one time only._

He’d wake up tomorrow and this would all melt away, surely. Teru would wake him up by closing the clothes drawer or opening the bathroom door, and he’d startle awake from whatever strange dream he was having – likely another one about the mysterious warehouse – and they’d have small talk, maybe grab breakfast. Teru would smile at him and know nothing of anything that happened between three and four in the morning. It would be Light’s secret – Light’s lie – to hold onto alone.

It was Light’s secret that L had kissed him like he’d been waiting for it for years; like he was finally breathing again.

He thinks of their walks home, their conversations at breakfast – L telling him he had nice eyes, L teasing him, L making a point of seeing him. L was no different from girls back in high school, really, except he was the only one who’d ever worked Light into a corner. He was the only person for whom Light let himself be worked into a corner –

And rest assured, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

It had all been so predictable, if only he'd cared to predict it.

Dazed, Light idly removes his phone from his pocket, and dials Teru’s number.

_I need to go home._

_Even if I don’t sleep._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

“Light?” Teru says, a bit sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He’s not wearing his glasses, and his pajama pants slip a little past his toes.

“Thanks,” Light murmurs, stepping over the threshold, brushing past Teru. "And thanks for picking up the phone."

“Are you alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I just went for a walk.”

_That’s somewhat evasive, but…_

_He’ll probably barely remember this in the morning, anyway._

“That’s good,” Teru replies, sweeping a hand across his forehead to tuck his hair out of the way. Light glances at his silhouette in the dark and nearly looks away, the impression of L’s figure still burned in his head.

“Do you have any early classes?” he asks, distracting himself.

“Nothing until the afternoon, so I can sleep for a while longer.”

When Light turns, Teru is smiling at him, a bit softly.

“That’s good.”

Light thinks of his morning class and almost winces.

_I’ve got to start sleeping more regularly. I have to keep up with my studies, I suppose._

“Light… Are you sure you’re fine?” Teru asks after a brief pause, faltering as though he had almost dropped a glass. “You almost look like you saw a ghost, or something.”

_So that’s what I look like._

_Maybe I did._

_Maybe I kissed a ghost._

He thinks of L pushing into his hips, a gesture as much an answer as it was a question – a question to which Light had responded in two ways. First, pull – then, push.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” Teru says, climbing back onto his bed. He stares at Light for just a moment too long, and Light turns to walk to his own bed.

It takes him a moment to remember why Teru is likely staring at him: he’s still wearing L’s shirt and pants.

He fights an audible groan, lying on the bed and turning to the side so he’s facing the window. He stares at his watch, eyes carefully tracing the moments falling apart as the second hand moves indefinitely, reliably.

_I’ll deal with it after I’ve slept for a bit._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

He deals with it by forgetting.

All of Tuesday, he stays awake and reads ahead in the psychology textbook. He reads until the words blur on the page and he can’t see L’s eyes anymore; he reads until there’s no longer a cavern in his stomach and he eradicates the questions that are hard to ask.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light doesn’t see L until Wednesday morning; when he walks into class, L is already sitting at their usual shared place. He’s tempted to sit somewhere else, but he closes his eyes, sighs a little, and walks to the desk.

The idea of having kissed L still seems surreal to him, like something that happened fleetingly in a dream as it once had, but didn’t quite make it to reality. Instead of feeling frustrated or mortified by the idea, he feels resigned. He looks at L’s back, thinks of running his hands over it and digging his fingers into his hips, and almost has to glance away.

He doesn’t feel the same need he had in the room to touch L, but he’s nearly frozen by the mere memory of it.

_I did that._

_I’d wanted him, even if only for a moment._

“Good morning, Light,” L says when Light pulls up the chair, shifting his backpack off his shoulders. “I hope you are doing well.”

“Fine, thank you,” Light says diplomatically, relatively uncaring that his response sounds pre-fabricated.

He’s unsure of how to react. To be polite and charming is to be expected; but other than that, he’s uncertain of what to say. More to the point, he’s uncertain of what he feels at all.

Him, Light Yagami – at a loss for words, all because of some stranger who called himself ‘ _friend_.’

Light had always been charming without thought. It was easy enough to compensate for his general boredom with some sort of alluring mask, and people fell for that.

People fall for predictable things.

Even so, he has the sense L isn’t the same as others. Of course he wouldn’t be, he couldn’t be.

Could it be safe to just ignore him?

“Light,” L says, very softly, leaning closer so no one else could possibly hear them, “I’m sorry if I caught you off guard the other night.”

“It’s fine,” Light says, uncertain of what the apology is more directly referencing.

_Inviting me over when you knew what you wanted to do?_

_Kissing me back?_

_Following me?_

_Trying to be friends at all?_

“Mmm… I’d like the chance to make it up to you. Would you like to practice tennis later?” L asks, a bit awkwardly.

He seems more reserved today, drawn back. Shy, even. It’s undoubtedly a contrived appearance, as there’s no way he could possibly be honestly demure.

Light closes his eyes and looks away, as if to say _give me a moment to think_.

If he decided to go, he’d show L that he couldn’t be intimidated. But going could be interpreted as another advance of sorts, or some variety of affirmation that he was interested in further engagement. If he decided against going, he’d give L the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to him, that he had been humiliated by his own impulsive decision to kiss him.

_That’s what happens with impulsive decisions._

“I can,” says Light, before he can think better of it.

Underneath his choice, one made from pure logic alone, he realizes that on some level, he wants to go. Monday night incident aside, he wants to compete against L again.

“Thank you,” says L thoughtfully, turning to look at him. “I’m sure it’ll be an exciting match. Are you available tonight, around eight?”

“Sure.”

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

_Why am I still indulging what he asks for?_

_Is it what I want, too?_

_Objectively, that’s the conclusion anyone else would reach, looking with an outside lens._

_But is it a sense of competition that drives this?_

_To see who can last the longest in the other’s presence?_

_Am I trying to prove something to myself?_

_Is he doing the same?_

_Why else would I stand to be around him after Monday night?_

_Do I like that he –_

_Sees something more?_

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

When Light approaches the tennis courts, he sees that L is the only one in the area. He’s leaning against the fence, back hunched against the ridges, and holding his racquet limply at the side. He’s dressed in the same absurdly impractical uniform as always, with a white shirt and baggy jeans. Light glances up at the sky, noting the stars slowly starting to rise.

L turns just before Light opens the gate, almost like he can sense his presence. He smiles the smallest bit but turns away quickly, leaving the fence to pace to one side of the court.

“Good evening,” Light calls politely, pulling his racquet and ball out of his bag before leaving it on the sidelines.

Unlike last time, he makes no move to shake L’s hand at the middle, taking his place instead at the corner of the court. He just wants to play; there’s no time for conversation. He knows enough by now to be certain that word games would come after the tennis match.

L nods without speaking, lining up at the edge of the court. He waits motionless as Light abruptly tosses the ball and serves it without warming up or otherwise indicating the start of the game.

_He understands, too._

L returns his serve easily, swinging his arm with a particular vigor. He’s playing differently from before: more aggressively, to a degree, at least from what Light can gauge from the first shot. He returns the ball easily, watching with sharp eyes as L runs from one side to the other.

_Is this him raising his guard, or lowering it?_

_Or changing nothing at all?_

_Is it the way I’m seeing him that’s changing?_

When L sends the ball back, he smiles a little. It’s just enough to catch Light off guard; he misses the shot by half an inch, losing his breath as he almost trips.

_Why’s he smiling like that?_

_Does he know something I don’t?_

L, naturally, offers no verbal explanation of his gesture, but glances up at the stars. Light watches him and considers sending the ball over the net as he’s caught off guard, but decides against it. Instead he, too, looks up, noticing that the stars are growing noticeably brighter with every moment.

“They’re beautiful tonight,” says L mildly, his voice barely audible caught in the distance between them. “But you and I are playing a game, aren’t we? Mmm… My apologies, Light.”

Light lowers his eyes to stare at him, and sends the ball back unapologetically, feeling L’s eyes on him.

_He’s so strange._

_That’s how he is._

_Maybe I should’ve just ignored him from the first day._

_But –_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

L wins, this time.

The first one to six wins, the same as their first game together. L wins by a slim margin, beating Light only with one extra point, but not before the sun has long since set and fainter stars paint the cartography of the night on a universal canvas.

When they play, Light sees the ball, but he sees L just as keenly, as if his eyes were trained to watch him. He traces L’s outline, watches the shadows the pair of them cast on the court. No one walked by for the duration of their game: it was a keenly different experience from their first encounter, wherein everyone was watching with bated breath.

This time feels more honest, and maybe that’s why Light slips.  After all, when it’s only the pair of them, there’s no doubt that L is watching him. He has the sense that L doesn’t only sees him – he reads him.

When it’s over, L walks to the edge of the net, and Light mirrors him.

“I promised a good game,” L says coolly, but his eyes belie his tone. They’re shining vividly enough to reflect the stars, and Light feels his breath hitch in his throat.

_This is the first time we’ve been alone together, just talking, since…_

“Yes. It was a good match,” Light says quietly, keenly aware of the flush in his cheeks.

“Since I won,” L says, a mischievous note creeping into his words, “I think you should owe me something, Light. I gave you a secret last time.”

“That may be correct, but you didn’t specify terms before we began,” Light says, glancing away from L’s stare. “And you set the terms last time, so I should set them this time, even if it’s retroactive.”

_He’s trying to outwit me._

_What could he possibly want?_

_He wanted to tell me a secret last time, so it was him who’d won all along, really._

_It doesn’t matter whether he wins or loses the matches. He’s always going to win – or try, anyway. He’ll take any situation and plan a way for him to win._

_That’s how any of this happened at all._

_He probably planned for me to forget my key, too._

He considers the last thought while trying to keep a hold off a grimace; his heart jumps anyway.

“But I already have a request in mind,” L says, a bit thoughtfully. Before Light can interrupt him, he continues. “Light, come to the café with me tomorrow. I want to talk to you honestly.”

“Honestly,” Light repeats, almost mocking.

“Yes,” says L, watching him with those wide eyes growing larger in the dark. “It’s unfair to you that I kissed you without going on a date first.”

“A date,” Light says, ignoring the twist in his stomach. “And what makes you think I’d agree to go on a date?”

_More to the point, to go on a date with you?_

_Do you honestly know me well enough to think I’d agree to such a thing?_

“You must be lonely,” L says mildly. “Ah… No, I’ll revise my statement." He chews on his thumb, the one not holding the racquet. "It must be lonely, to be the best at everything, Light. Perhaps I can ease your boredom for a while. I understand. Even if you could never like me, I can help you.”

Light’s hands tighten into fists.

_There he goes again, thinking he knows everything._

_But he could be right._

Light frowns, turning his head away from L.

_I’ve dealt with him up to this point, anyway, when I suppose I could’ve just ignored him at any time._

_And I did kiss him._

_He could be fun to keep around._

_It could be fun to keep someone like him around. Someone who cares so much._

_I can use this for something, surely._

“I suppose we could meet at the café,” he says after a moment.

“Mmm. I am glad, Light.”

They walk to the edge of the net, and L runs his fingers over the mesh idly. On an impulse, Light lifts his fingers so they’re brushed against L’s through the net, two sides of a reflection. L nearly jumps and throws a glance over, the ghost of a smile hanging in his eyes.

At the edge of the net, L pauses and raises his hand for Light to grab. “Good game,” he says softly.

Light’s thoughts are strangely silent when he takes L’s hand and shakes it. He’s both surprised and unsurprised when L pulls him a little closer, so there’s less than a foot of space between them.

“Look up,” L whispers, sarcasm and teasing absent, and Light obliges.

The night sky is so saturated with stars that it’s almost bright. It’s strange that they’re so visible, given the well-lit infrastructure of the campus, but the tennis courts are more reclusive, spared from the garish proximity of brighter streetlamps.

“They shine for you, Light,” L says quietly, and Light is torn between laughing at the absurdity of such a thing, or looking back at L only to be swallowed by his eyes, or even – something very soft in him suggests – crying with the unfamiliarity of everything, just _everything_ , welling up in him, even if he’d never admit it.

He decides on looking back at L, who looks strangely as if he himself might cry. His eyes are shining even brighter, as he wears something of a sad smile. Light is unsurprised when L leans forward to whisper something into his ear:

“But I like you, you know, Light.”

Light resists the urge to flinch as he pulls away, just stares to memorize L’s face and tries to discern it. His eyes are so empty that they’re full but otherwise he’s unreadable.

Light is unsurprised when L leans forward and, again, suddenly, L’s kissing him, but this time it’s underneath the stars and Light’s still gripping his tennis racquet so tightly he can’t feel his fingers.

This time, it’s different – not filled with anything like passion, and it’s almost boring, but sweeter somehow, like something that doesn’t belong to them. Light leans into the gesture, not scared by it – it feels almost the same as someone holding his hand. He’s nearly ambivalent to it; L barely reacts, and his mind wanders. It’s not mortifying and it’s not humiliating.

L sighs against his lips, and pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Light closes his eyes and lowers his head.

“I should go home.”

It’s easier to be composed, this time.

He’s not afraid.

Slowly, _slowly_ , he understands, as another piece falls into place.

It’s a game, and it’s only fun when he’s the one winning.

But it can be a fun game.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

L walks home with him, and for the most part they’re silent. L points out a few constellations, but remains generally quiet, observing the heavens with an objective eye while Light calculates how far apart his hand is from L’s.  They walk together until they’re at the entrance of Light’s residence hall; as he moves to step inside, Light pauses and glances at L, who hangs behind him almost hesitantly.

“Would you like to come inside, for a moment?”

L stares at him, saying nothing, but follows Light in through the doors. They walk up several flights of stairs, passing students who stare at them and smile with plastered masks for faces. Light feels almost haunted by it, but pushes it out of mind, focusing instead on his shadow – L, awkwardly slouching into his steps and following him.

When they arrive at his room, Light opens the door quickly.

“Teru should still be at the library,” he says dismissively, as he flicks the overhead fluorescents upon entering. A quick sweep reveals that he and L are the only ones in the room.

“Ah. What a nice place, Light,” L says, his words flat as he closes the door behind them.

“I suppose so.”

Light walks to his desk and lays his bag by the feet of his chair, turning around only to find that L is directly behind him. Smoothly, he grabs both of L’s wrists, wrapping his hands around both.

“Light,” L says softly, smiling a little before Light kisses him and pulls them both closer to the bed.

 _This is too fast,_ he supposes idly. _Maybe too much._  

_But it’s fun to catch him off guard._

He’s surprised to find that he’s not humiliated, at least not now – perhaps because he’s made a conscious decision to play the game in the same way that L does.

Light pushes L onto the bed, pleased to see when he opens his eyes that L is staring back at him with something like unabashed admiration. It’s uncertain if the look is contrived or genuine. 

_No, L. I don’t like you. That much is true._

_Even you know that. You must._

Light kisses him, moving his lips to the hollow of his neck and listening as L’s breath hitches. Until then, nothing had struck a chord in Light, but seeing the way L reacts to him is intoxicatingly satisfying.

_But you are interesting, and there’s no point in denying that._

_It’ll be fun to unwind you._

_Sure – we can go to the café tomorrow._

_I look forward to seeing where this goes._

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

That evening, Light sleeps exceptionally well.

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> || Something that may be interesting to check out now: [The Scale of the Universe](http://htwins.net/scale/)
> 
> (*whispers* L's strategy of making Light think that he's easily manipulable transfers into the fact he's endearing himself to Light, so Light becomes attached to the idea of someone who 'worships' and loves him above all other things. Without even knowing it, Light will inevitably fall for this way of someone loving him, therefore attaching L to him without even having been aware of it happening at all. L isn't innocent, regardless of how he seems ;P Even if Light sees him as strange, Light is attached to the idea of someone he can compete with, adoring him. That plays into this sort of hidden god-complex he can possibly have at times? Thus, Light is interested by physical engagements when he's the one made to be in control, by L's design. But I'm sure you can already suspect as much. Working these things out is part of why this chapter took me a while. Also, notice the way Light's way of thinking shifts from referring to L as 'him' and then to 'you' and back.)
> 
> That being said, there are some things I still have to go back and perfect later on and I'll make a note of it when I do, but for now... Yes. Take this. I hope it doesn't disappoint you so much. Even if it's not ideal, I still like this much better than the original. I'll keep working hard!
> 
> *I should probably also add that "the stars shine for you" thing that L says was actually intended to be humorous, so please by all means - if you laughed at it, I did my job xD


	8. Cygnus: The Swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> || "As is the case with so many of the constellations, there are a number of possible explanations for the presence of the swan in the heavens. Some myths, for instance, state the swan was once the pet of the Queen Cassiopeia. Other versions state that the swan was Cionus, son of Neptune, who was wrestled to the ground and smothered by Achilles. To save his son, Neptune immortalized Cionus as a swan.
> 
> Cygnus is easily found in the summer sky. Also called the Northern Cross because of its characteristic shape, its brightest star is Deneb, which is part of the Summer Triangle with Vega and Altair. Cygnus is located next to Cepheus and Lyra."

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★ 

  

> _“How many times has it been? Thousands?_
> 
> _This is ridiculous._
> 
> _What could compel someone to be so set in inter-dimensional destruction? How could anyone possibly be so reckless, shortsighted, and childish?_
> 
> _And how could someone like that –_
> 
> _Possibly be the only person I call my friend?_
> 
> _And do I even mean it when I say it?_
> 
> _I think not._
> 
> _He is a piece of the puzzle alone.”_

_* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★_   

  

> _He’s running so fast he can barely hear over the deafening rush of wind in his ears, screaming at him. He pushes through the crowd, mouth hanging open in a silent plea. No one knows what’s happening; no one knows what’s about to happen. He’s the only one cursed with knowledge of the inevitable but even he didn’t see it soon enough to get there earlier._
> 
> _“Watch where you’re going!” a man growls at him as he pushes past the lady in a bright red coat next to him. She shrieks as some of the coffee from her cup spills onto her jacket, but the man running doesn’t care. How could he possibly care? He’s fighting not to keel over from the nausea of what he knows is going to happen, he can’t possibly stop what’s going to happen but he needs to._
> 
> _The stars above his head are cold and indifferent, masked by city lights. They don’t care; it’s divine entertainment for them to watch him do this again and again and he wants to scream, there’s something so helpless and angry building in the cavity of his chest._
> 
> _When he hears police sirens, he knows he’s getting to the right place and chills grip his arms until he’s shaking, his long trenchcoat doing nothing to stop him. He continues running, pushing through and breaking into a full sprint._
> 
> _When he sees the red and blue lights flashing at the hotel entrance, he swears he won’t lose this time and he runs so fast that his legs almost give out from under him. He won’t lose something so precious to him yet again, and fade into the next world where he may-or-may-not-remember any of this at all._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★ 

 

> _“In every world, Light Yagami dies because of something to do with the Death Note._
> 
> _Sometimes, he’s killed by someone who owns it._
> 
> _Sometimes, his own ambition kills him._
> 
> _Sometimes, I’m the one who kills him, when I don’t remember._
> 
> _Sometimes, I forget and we fight the greatest fight the world has ever seen._
> 
> _But I do not want him to die anymore._
> 
> _I need to find a world without the Death Note._
> 
> _I’ll keep looking._
> 
> _This is the greatest puzzle the universe has to offer me, and I will be the one to solve it. That much is certain.”_

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★ 

 

 

> _“At the beginning, I cared only about figuring out how to end it._
> 
> _But it’s possible that things have changed since then.”_
> 
> _But this is the story of a god who fell in love, and the eternal damnation that came afterwards._
> 
> _It’s written for those who still have time left._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Under Light’s hands, L had seemed softer, somehow. Now, in the daylight again, L is made of sharp angles and deep bags under his eyes, entirely lacking a flush in his cheekbones and looking more _grey_ than anything else. He stares at Light with a particular hollowness, fingers wrapped around a coffee cup filled almost entirely with sugar cubes, suggesting he had skipped the coffee altogether.

L has become, once again, boring to Light – the intrigue vaporized the moment Light woke up after sleeping soundly and returning to himself. He could appease L’s request for coffee, but other than that, it was plain to see their charade had simply gone on long enough.

Things would, Light had decided, come to an end after this.

There was no longer any point to it; whether or not there had ever been one was also a debatable point. Light wasn’t interested; he never had been. The game was worth something while it lasted, but it was already over.

“Ah, Light. There’s no phone number on your coffee today,” L says observationally, breaking the silence, his eyes stretching wide. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“A good thing.”

 _Why’s he saying that?_  
  
_Certainly it couldn’t be –_

“I’ve calculated that there’s a possibility I’d be jealous if that were the case,” L remarks, sticking his thumb into his mouth and staring absentmindedly up to the ceiling. “Roughly a ninety-five percent chance, particularly considering the events of last evening.”

Light hides his expression by taking a long sip of coffee, feeling the warmth of it race through him. L is remarkably straightforward – so much so that it’s only possible he hides more layers of truth beneath the obvious nature of his declarations.

_Knowing that… There’s a fair chance he’s saying he has actual feelings for me._

There’s something appealing in the idea of keeping L around for that fact alone, but all the work is hardly worth it. He's a pain. Light’s heart almost skips a beat, but not quite.

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Light?”

“I may not join the tennis team after all.”

L stares at him, unblinking, as if unfazed by the statement in the slightest, and Light feels something strange in his throat.

“That seems rather sudden. Why did you feel the need to mention it now?”

Light smiles, leans back and crosses his arms. The firm spine of the booth is almost reassuring to prop himself against. “I was thinking about last night,” he says. “It might be beneficial to stick to practicing alone, at least for the first semester. I wouldn’t want to get overwhelmed.”  
  
“Oh, I see.” L absently flicks one of the sugar cubes off the top of his cup, and it lands in a dusty leap on the table. “Mmm... Or perhaps you’re thinking of reasons to avoid seeing me again? I have been rather intrusive, after all, it would not surprise me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Light says, feigning surprise. "L."

_He’s sharp. Or maybe I was less careful than I could’ve been._

_He certainly doesn’t care about being polite, so he’s not afraid to call what he sees._

“I didn’t think I was,” L says, picking up the fallen sugar cube between his thumb and pointer finger and examining it like it’s evidence. He sounds mock-offended. “I understand more than you think, Light.”

“Then trust me when I say that’s not it.”

L drops the cube again, intentionally, and watches as it falls. He bites his lip.

“Why should I trust a liar, Light?”

Light holds his hands still by gripping the coffee mug, but he wants to break something almost instantly. Anger, he decides, is a warm glow in his stomach.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a liar, Light.”

“To who? To you?” Light demands. He doesn't bother pretending to be amused by it, as he might've before. 

“Even at this moment, you’re faking surprise, and choosing your words carefully to evoke a certain reaction from me,” L says, and knocks another sugar cube off the top of his cup with a quick flash of a smile. “You couldn’t become overwhelmed if you tried. You’re already tired of it here. You were bored by your second day. If something came along that excited you, something that threatened to challenge you, you’d take the opportunity in a moment and heaven only knows what would happen then.”

For a second, Light thinks he sees L’s eyes glimmer, as if the ghost of something flickered over his face. But in a moment the mirage fades, and L is the same as ever, only now he’s sticking two fingers in his mouth instead of his usual preferred one, and Light feels his stomach flip.

“I don’t think you understand me at all.”

L stares at him, still sucking on his fingers. He pulls them out for a moment to say:

“Teach me, then, Light.”

And then he’s still smiling smugly, like he knows a secret, and Light feels a rush of something so powerful pulling in his stomach he has to look away, warmth cresting and dissipating over his skin in waves.

_I won’t fall for his games._

_It’s obvious he’s just trying to get me to stick around, so he has company._

_He’s so obvious, it’s sick._

“What are you talking about? Don’t be silly,” Light says again, and his voice sounds hollow even to his own ears. He can’t feel the warmth of the coffee cup on his palms; he’s thinking of the fabric of L’s shirt bunched in his fingers. He had never been one to use the word _silly_ , as he’d always had a greater vocabulary than that.

L’s smile fades to something more somber, as he scoops the sugar cubes from the table into the cup of his hand.

“I didn’t think I was. Maybe you’ve run out of words, Light.”

Light grips his hand under the table into a fist.

_He’s so strange._

_I’d be glad if I never had to hear another one of his riddles again._

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Earlier in the morning, it hadn’t been raining. But as they walk outside, leaving the coffee shop, it’s raining so hard that it’s almost impossible to see anything through the haze.

“It certainly does precipitate here often,” L remarks just before they leave, to which Light makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat.

_The sooner I’m back in the room, the better._

_Seriously. This guy's done nothing but get in the way._

“What a sad ending to a wonderful date,” L adds, and Light holds a hand up to his forehead to peer through the haze of the rain. Within seconds of stepping outside, he’s drenched.

“A date,” Light repeats flatly, almost laughing at the end.

_Regardless of what anyone thinks, it wasn’t a date._

_Even if he thinks it was, I doubt we’ll see each other again._

Strangely, the thought verges on anticlimactic.

“A date,” L says, the rain an almost wistful background track to his words. “Remember, I requested an official meeting before I’d kiss you again. Ah… Even if that didn’t go exactly as planned. Perhaps I’ll remember to bring an umbrella next time.”

Light glances sideways, finding that L is staring at him. Oddly, he almost looks as though he’s about to cry.

_What’s…wrong?_

“It's fine,” Light says, a bit dismissively. “At least it’s still warm outside, so we won’t be freezing.”

_What does he see, now?_

_Does he know how awful he is?_

“Mmm… Yes. I suppose that’s right.”

They walk in silence, with only the sound of the rain between them. In the distance, there’s a low rumble of thunder that echoes like a warning. Puddles collect rainwater and mix it with dirt, until the walkway is indistinguishable from a layer of mud. Light winces at the thought of his shoes being soaked; L, on the other hand, looks unperturbed.

Just before separating at the usual place, Light asks L, impulsively:

“Would you like to come in for a minute to dry off?”

It's a ridiculous thing to offer, but still. Perhaps it could give some sense of finality or closure to their friendship. It would be more polite to end things where they could both hear each other clearly; and Light could kick L out back into the rain. It would be the physical equivalent, or perhaps _retaliation_  against L's accusation. Light still hears the words ringing in his ears - " _you're a liar_."

_You're the liar, L._

L stares at him, hair obscuring half his face, effectively hiding his expression.

“That would be nice, Light. We’re both drenched.”

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

L is dripping rainwater all over the floor as surely as if he’d brought the storm inside with him, standing in the middle of the bedroom with a lost expression, watching as Light tears through dresser drawers to find towels.

It’s a good thing, Light thinks for the second time in twenty-four hours, that Teru isn’t home. A phone check reveals that Teru is in class all afternoon, and won’t be able to have dinner until late in the evening – ample time, in that case, to mop up the mess.

“I am sorry, Light,” L says in a small voice. “I can leave.”

“It’s fine. Just stay for a minute. Here.”

Light says it all in one breath, as he opens the top drawer of the dresser and stumbles onto the collection of towels. He throws one back to L, who catches it deftly.

_He just has to dry off, and then he'll leave._

L sticks the towel on his head, as Light dabs at the fabric of his shirt. It’s soaked thoroughly, the thin fabric hopelessly damp, and he kicks off his shoes at the same moment. They make a strange sound hitting the tile, leaving a puddle almost instantly.

“Oh,” L says, as he watches each shoe slide across the floor. He blinks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Light says, sitting on the floor next to L and smoothing his hair with the towel. “You can stay here for a minute or two if you want, just until it stops rai –"

He breaks off midsentence, as he feels a hand on his foot. When he looks up, L is staring at him, curled into a small ball on the floor, with Light’s foot resting on his knee.

“What are you doing?” Light asks a bit too sharply, the words almost caught in his throat. He’s almost dizzy. The lighting in the room doesn’t change, and the rain slapping against the window doesn’t change either, but something feels different almost instantly, like someone had lifted a veil from his eyes.

“I want to help you,” L says, and takes the towel from his head, wrapping Light’s foot in it. “I meant what I said earlier. I want to learn.”

Gone is the teasing note from his voice; gone, too, is the strange posture. He’s sitting up normally, but he looks strangely wistful, almost as if a part of him is caught elsewhere, and Light feels a rush of something nameless.

“Fine,” he says, looking away. “Do whatever you want.”

_Just leave. I don't care._

“Alright, then.”

Not half a moment later, Light feels a drip on his foot.

_More rainwater? Seriously?_

“Here. Stop that,” he says, and L looks up from having been staring wordlessly at Light. “Just. Here.”

He moves forward, and brings his own towel to L’s hair.

L’s eyes stretch wider than Light’s ever seen, and he goes completely still.

“I’m sorry, Light. It is funny, though, how things happen this way.”

He mumbles the second part, ducking behind the towel; the words are barely audible, quiet enough that Light almost misses them, but he doesn’t.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Light asks, sounding a bit irritated, but curiosity prickles at him. Of course, it’s nothing more than a traditionally cryptic remark, likely contrived by L to generate some sort of interest on Light's behalf, but L looks as though someone had built him a chest of glass only to crush it. Maybe he's being truthful, but maybe not.

“It’s nothing.”

L looks up at Light, his eyes heavy and clouded, and Light moves forward even closer. More gently than he’d ever thought he was capable of, he moves the towel through L’s hair, slowly moving closer to him. The scent of the rainwater is all around, earthy and clean, and somehow it’s distracting.

_I should want him to go._

_It's true that I don't like him. I never have. I probably never will._

_But -_

“Light.”

L lowers his eyes, traces a single finger along the outside of Light’s leg.

“Ryuzaki.”

Light almost smiles in spite of himself for half a step, until he realizes.

_Wait –_

His hand is caught in L's hair, the towel almost falling out of his grip as he slowly opens his palm.

_I don’t know that name._

_Whose name is – Ryuzaki?_

L freezes for a moment, eyes snapping back up to Light’s, his hands still wet and on Light’s leg. The neck of his shirt is slipping off his shoulder and exposing his collarbone.

“Ah… Did you just say Ryuzaki?” he asks, leaning backward and lifting a thumb, as though he were about to chew on it. He looks absurd, but suddenly vibrant.

Light frowns. “I don’t remember. I thought I said L.”

_That’s a lie._

_I don’t know anyone named Ryuzaki._

_I don’t know –_

_I just -_

But it doesn’t seem to matter, because in a split moment L is pushing him back onto the floor and kissing him, hard, and the towel Light had been holding falls out of his hand.

L isn’t a particularly good kisser. His lips are strangely stiff, and his movements are borderline convulsive rather than gentle, but he’s breathing heavier, and the knowledge of that reaction alone is enough to make Light’s heart speed up. He's intrigued.

_Something's happened._

_Something changed._

It's obvious from the way L is touching him, like he's hungry for something and can't find enough of it. Light cups one of his hands over L's and guides it over his chest, surprised and almost flustered by the way L's hips jerk into his in response.  

_The name Ryuzaki._

_Is it possible that’s his actual name?_

_But – there’s no way I could know it, obviously._  

_Maybe I saw something recently with that name, and he recognizes it? And it's all a coincidence? What else makes sense?_

L leans down so he's resting on Light's shoulder, practically sitting on his stomach. "Please," he says softly, and Light in turn runs his fingertips down L's spine. 

_Does it even matter?_

_I'll kick him out soon enough._

_Give him just enough to make him want to stay, and then -_

“Please, Light,” L whispers, pulling away from the kiss and sitting back. He still looks like stone, but there’s a bit of color on his cheekbones. Uncaring about what he's pleading for, Light impulsively leans up with him and finds the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. L follows the suggestion of the gesture and pulls the shirt off, tossing it to the side.

He’s incredibly thin. It does nothing to dissuade Light’s perception of him as a ghost; the hollows of his collarbones cast strange shadows on his skin and he’s so pale that he’s nearly translucent, but it doesn’t matter. The idea of L in front of him like this, vulnerable, feels so much like a victory that Light is breathless from the high of it, almost lost until L reaches down and starts to unbutton his own shirt.

They’re in nearly the same position as they had been the first night, something like picking up where they had left off: L on top of Light, with Light’s hands on L’s waist to pull him down. The only difference is that L’s kisses are shallow this time, like he were expecting Light to disappear from underneath him into a pile of dust.

The prospect is almost unexpectedly dull. Light moves to deepen the kiss, but L is unresponsive. He's moving with almost a mechanical rhythm, breath hitching every time he touches Light's lips, his hands planted firmly on Light's shoulders.

_He's so tentative._

_He wasn't like this before._

Light opens his eyes, seeing that L’s are squeezed shut, and almost sighs. He grabs L's hands from his shoulders and rolls over, so L is pinned underneath him.

_If he's already being careful, it'll be no fun to kick him out._

“You can do more than that,” Light whispers, somehow surprised by himself, and leaves a small kiss just under L’s ear. He hears L’s breath catch and grow heavy again, an observation that nearly dazes him and leaves him leaning into L to steady himself. He bends down to find L's lips again, and tastes sugar.

Slowly, Light rocks back and forth, pressing a little harder into L every time he moves forward. L arches his back into the friction and moans against Light with each thrust, digging his nails into Light's back. For Light, evaluating the effects he has on L is almost intoxicating; nearly enough so that he forgets he wants L to leave.

Looking back, Light considers, it all seemed so obvious, that they would wind up here. Perhaps it’d been his plan all along, even without an obvious strategy.

It's all the more satisfying that L, who had confidently, almost arrogantly, sucked on his thumb, teasing Light only an hour earlier, suddenly seems to be incapable of doing anything other than shivering underneath Light’s touch, never stopping the motion of rubbing his body against Light's.

Light almost smirks at the idea. He hides his expression by breaking apart, pressing his lips into L's hair and stretching out fully against L's body.

L whimpers, as if to say, _don't stop,_ and Light almost laughs. He notices - 

_He smells like rain._

(Naturally, Light pretends he didn't think such a thing.)

 

* *★　　*　　★★　　*　　★★　　*　　★

 

Light pauses long enough to pull L to the bed. L’s hair is sticking up in several different directions, his eyes stretched even wider than usual as he stares at Light. Light runs a hand over L's stomach; L, taut and on the verge of melting, visibly shakes under the touch. Their towels and shirts are still lying on the floor in unceremonious, forgotten heaps, as the sky grows darker outside and the wind picks up, howling against the window.

Light smiles a little, and runs a finger down L’s arm. In turn, L reaches out and places a hand over Light’s heart.

“Hm?” Light murmurs, before he can think better of it.

(He hadn't expected that; not that it made much of a difference.)

L’s looking at him, but he doesn't seem as entirely empty as usual. His lips are parted slightly, as though he were out of breath.

“It’s nothing,” L says, his voice almost breaking on the first word, and Light holds himself back from smirking as he leaves his palm at the small of L’s back.

_He’s affected._

_Perhaps...._

Ideas cluttering his mind, Light places his other hand over L’s and moves it across his own chest so that L can feel his skin. He’s almost amused by the reaction he gets. L, usually composed and entirely poker faced, chews his lip so fervently that his mouth turns pale and his eyes are filled with stars.

“Did you recognize the name Ryuzaki?” Light asks, feigning innocence by biting his own lip and blinking slowly. “Is that why you asked me that earlier?”

_Certainly, there's no better time to ask._

“Do you recognize it, Light?” L asks, breathless. “You must, seeing as you’re the one who said it.”

He moves so that he’s touching Light’s hip almost tenderly, but there's a thoughtful expression dawning on his face, as if the question had returned him to himself a bit. 

“Why’d you react like that when you thought I said that name?” Light asks more carefully.

_I won't admit I said it._

_I can probably get more out of him. Throw him off balance._

“You and I both know that you said it,” L replies, leaning down a little closer. “So you don’t have to pretend, Light.”

Light falters, eyes fixed on L’s stony expression.

“So, then, how come you…”

“Why did I kiss you for that?”

L stares at him, then leans down and kisses him again. It’s slower and sweeter this time, and certainly less feverish.

“I’ll admit truthfully, it was nothing more than a momentary weakness, caused by no factor in particular,” he says, murmuring the words against Light’s cheek. “If anything, I acted because of how you looked at me, not because of what you said.”

_He’s lying._

Light can’t explain it, but he gets the sense that L isn’t being honest. He resists the urge to narrow his eyes, or tighten his fists, or otherwise give any inclination that he’s frustrated, even if L can’t see him.

_I can’t trust his words._

_I don’t think I’ve ever been able to trust him. That's why I've kept him around; trying to figure him out._

_I knew that._

_But I also shouldn’t act agitated._

The thought makes him want to kiss L harder, hard enough that he’s shaking too much to talk because _that_ , at least, would be an honest interaction, but L pulls away and keeps his hand over Light’s heart.

“Thank you, Light,” L says, sitting up straight so he’s looking at Light, sprawled on the sheets. He sounds strange, almost seductive, abruptly composed.

_He's a mess._

“For what?”

L responds by leaning down again, stealing another kiss. He’s getting better at it, almost like he’s gaining confidence, like he’s gradually stopped being afraid that Light could break under his hands.

Light, for his part, is thinking too fast to feel any of it. He’s less interested in being swept away by being touched, more intrigued by the prospect of sweeping L away.

“It was a nice date,” L whispers into his ear. “I know as well as you do that you could dispose of me at any moment.”  
  
“Stop that,” Light says almost instantly, because it’s honestly rather annoying to hear such things, and he turns to find L’s mouth.

An L who feels indebted to him or otherwise affected by him is easily molded underneath his hands. As far as why he’d want to shape someone so absurd, he’s unsure; but all that matters is that he wants it, suddenly and badly, and it burns in him.

Every time L says something cryptic – challenging Light’s knowledge of him, challenging Light’s motives – Light wants him more, if only to prove him wrong. Realistically, L knows as much, and he says such things so that Light will grab him and pin him to the bed, but it’s a kind of move that Light can outwit.

Light flips them both over in one smooth gesture so he’s lying on top of L again, but he pulls back a little. Slowly, he trails kisses from L’s jawline down to his shoulder, over his arm and back, down the center of his chest almost like he’s following an invisible incision line. He stops just above the waistband of L’s jeans, his fingers pulling back a hint of fabric as if to suggest that he wanted to pull them off.

Light feels L shudder, hears him whimper a little from the back of his throat, and knows the effects of what he’s doing before L can even react to him. Only moments later, he feels fingers on his back, smooth and deft in their movements.

“Are you pretending to write on my back?” Light asks a bit incredulously, lifting his head to see L looking at him with a fixed headlight-stare.

_Seriously?_

“I’m practicing my Japanese,” L says with a deep breath. “Before I get carried away any more than I already have, Light. Surely you understand.” His hands are cool, and the red is fading from his cheeks again.

“Fine,” Light says, abruptly and irrationally irritated as he turns away. He lays his head on L’s stomach.

He knows rationally that he couldn't have expected anything else from L, other than an abrupt change of pace; he's caught between demanding that L leaves immediately and remaining quiet. What stops him from saying anything at all is the steady rhythm of L's pulse under his ear.

More to the point, when Light closes his eyes, he can discern the individual characters being written on his back, and it steals his attention. L's touch is steady but faint, like it could disappear at any moment, and there’s something soothing in the motion.

It's certainly unlike any other way he'd ever been held before.

After a minute, the nature of the writing changes. L gently pokes him at different spots, and then draws lines between the ghost of each touch, as if he’s playing some absurd game of connecting the dots.

“I’m drawing constellations,” L says, before Light even asks. “Mmm… That one was what you call the Big Dipper.”

Light keeps his eyes closed.

_Leave it to him to come up with something like that._

He doesn't admit, even in an inarticulate form, that the touches feel nice.

“This one is what you call Canis Major,” L says, as he leaves more stars on Light’s back and bridges the gap between them. “The Great Dog that chased down a rabbit. Once the dog found the rabbit, Light, the two raced each other for centuries without end in sight. Surprisingly enough, the story does have an ending. Zeus himself turned both the dog and the rabbit to stone, having seen enough of their endless charade. If not for that action, they would have fought for all eternity.”

L pauses and places his hand flat on Light’s shoulder blade. “And now they’re both in the stars,” he finishes. “Sirius, the dog star, is the brightest in the sky.”

“That’s interesting,” mutters Light, his lips pressed against L’s lower stomach.

_He should've left an hour ago._

_I don't know why I haven't kicked him out yet. I should._

_But he's almost..._

_Catching me off guard, somehow._

_He always seems to know just when to do it._

“And this one is Cygnus,” L continues, moving his hand to the small of Light’s back. He draws two perpendicular lines to connect the dots. “Some refer to it as the Northern Cross. The Northern Cross isn’t an official constellation, but it’s recognizable as only part of Cygnus. As far as the myth goes, no one is entirely certain about who Cygnus the swan was. He could have been Queen Cassiopeia’s pet, or Neptune in another form. Isn’t that interesting, Light?”

“Sure.”

“Ah, yes. Cygnus’s brightest star is Deneb. It comprises one third of the summer triangle, with Vega and Altair.”

"Hm."

Without any further verbal cues, L begins to write something on Light’s back, apparently not a constellation drawing. Light opens his eyes, and moves his hand to the inside of L’s thigh. If he concentrates, he can tell that L is writing letters, the same ones over and over again. It takes him a moment to discern each one, but he thinks he can recognize them:

 

_K_

_I_

_R_

_A_

 

“What’s that supposed to be, L?” Light asks, a bit too sharply, and when he looks up, L is half-smirking at him.

“The name of an old friend,” L says and lifts the hand he’d been use to draw with to suck on his thumb. “Perhaps you recognize it?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s your acquaintance, not mine. And it’s a strange name.”

The way L is looking at him makes him want to hide; L’s stares are intrusive, implicitly suggesting that he wants to probe into Light’s heart or otherwise dissect him.

_I hate him. I hate him._

“Of course,” L echoes after him, breaking into a smile. “Light, you really are incredible.”

“Hm?”

Light can control his expression, but he can’t control the rush of blood to his face.

From anyone else, he’d be ambivalent; but the way L says it is so plainly intimate that he’s almost flustered, particularly given the nature of his thoughts.

_He's doing it again!_

“You are rather amazing,” L says simply. “You amaze me, Light.”

Light turns away.

_It means nothing._

_If nothing else... At least he isn’t going on about the Higuchi case today._

“Even so, I should probably be leaving,” L adds, and he runs his hand through Light’s hair. It’s nearly a tender gesture. “Your roommate will be returning soon, yes? You’re meeting him for dinner later. I should leave before he arrives.”

_He beat me to it._

_Damn him._

Light sits up, and L’s hand grazes the side of his head, palm lingering at his temple. Light leans into the motion, closing his eyes and sighing a little without considering the advantages or disadvantages of his reaction.

If nothing else, it feels nice.

He’s almost embarrassed by it, but doesn’t let on.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Only a beat later, L slides off the bed. The shadow he casts on the floor is thin, like that of a skeleton’s. He picks his shirt up from the floor, shrugging it on with his back to Light and the bed without saying a word.

Light wants to say something, but doesn't. He places his hands neatly on his knees and watches L’s movements, memorizes them if for no other reason than to be able to say he did.

“Light,” L says, when he’s almost at the door. “Could I see you tomorrow?”

 _Say no._  
  
_Remember this morning_.

_There’s no point to having him around._

_He’s ridiculous. A caricature. He just likes to mess with things. He's annoying and obnoxious and a know-it-all._

“Sure,” says Light.

“We’ll go stargazing,” L says, throwing Light a glance over his shoulder. “If that’s fine with you?”

“Okay.”

He thinks about the rain outside. Maybe the weather would be clearer by then.

“See you later, then, Light.”

L’s voice sounds oddly small as he opens the door and tucks his hands into his pockets, a shadow vanishing without another word.

“Take care.”

Light remembers, just as the door closes, that he had never told L when Teru would be coming back, or that they were planning to have dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The "more apologies" section) || Also, sorry about the hiatus. I had to figure some things out, but I'm back on track. The next chapter will be more...stars-y? A great adjective, undoubtedly. :)))
> 
> Haha, I rewatched that beginning part of the Relight 2 special and I just imagine L standing in a box, with his hands in his pockets, looking back on all the past universes and thinking "god fucking dammit Light seriously what is wrong with you" except more eloquently and I'm lol'ing. Canon. Imagine how he felt when he figured out the potato chip thing. XD Assuming a universe alternate from original anime/manga, wherein there simply is no such thing as an afterlife and that's sort of the point. 
> 
> Also, that beginning part of the story in italics, where L is running, will be sort of an ongoing foreshadowing. A plot within a plot within an even bigger plot.
> 
> I added it to my main profile, but if you want to contact me in a private way, feel free to email me at "ismyfavoritelawliet@gmail.com". I know, the name is strange (I keep giggling about it actually) but "lawlietismyfavorite" was already taken, so ;)


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